A Meeting In The Ladies' Room by Anita Doreen Diggs

picking up the menu which I knew by heart, “I’ll make sure that I’m wearing Versace the next time murder comes a-callin’.”
    Once I used the word “murder,” they felt free to pelt me with questions.
    â€œDo the police have any suspects?”
    â€œIs Keith Williams as fine in person as he looks on TV?”
    â€œPaul said you were there to get your Filofax. What was it doing there?”
    â€œDo you know who the killer is?”
    Paul tapped a fork on the side of his water glass. “Hold up, everybody—Jackie can’t talk about the case until the police have solved it.”
    â€œThat’s cool.” Victor had a voice like warm chocolate syrup dripping over a hot peach cobbler. “I’m just glad that Jackie is all right.”
    I practically swooned. Maybe he would quit his girlfriend, whoever she was, and rescue a damsel-in-distress like me.
    During the hubbub of ordering meals and drinks, I managed to sneak a few sidelong glances at the object of my desire. Each time, he was either engaged in heated conversation with Joe Long, who was seated on his right, or staring in concentration at the wine list.
    â€œWhy don’t you just go and sit in his lap?” Paul whispered nastily.
    â€œWhat is the matter with you?” I asked innocently.
    I knew perfectly well what the matter was.
    â€œNothing,” he answered brusquely.
    I decided not to look at Victor for the rest of the meal so that Paul could relax and enjoy himself.
    â€œSo, Victor, tell us what the bookstore owners are asking for these days,” Elaine “I went to Harvard” Garner said as she actually took out a pad and pen to record his answers.
    Victor Bell was the only one in the group who didn’t have to deal with office politics. He was a sales rep and his job was to go from bookstore to bookstore in the territory assigned to him and convince them to order large quantities of whatever books his company was publishing.
    Alyssa rushed in just then, and there was a lot of air-kissing and moving chairs around to make room for her before Victor could tell his story.
    Looking extremely self-conscious at being the center of attention, Victor Bell declared that he had just returned from a three-day trip down the East Coast. Without telling us the names of the stores or their buyers, he related stories of coming across many people who made crucial decisions even though they had not heard of many Black celebrities who had books in the upcoming catalog.
    â€œDo you believe that these white buyers had never heard of Steve Harvey?”
    There were cries of “oh, come on” and “you gotta be kiddin’.”
    â€œI’m serious as sickle cell, y’all. I had to explain who he was over and over again. In the end, one of the stores took five and the others would only order two.”
    â€œThis is so disheartening,” said Elaine. “We work our butts off and run into one wall after another. But you didn’t answer my question. What is it that they’re looking for?”
    Victor sighed. “Another Waiting to Exhale. If I were you guys, I’d buy as much fiction as I could. They can’t get enough of it.”
    â€œSome of the large bookstore chains are even worse,” Victor continued after downing half a glass of straight Scotch. “They have a different buyer for each category.”
    â€œEach category?” asked Dallas.
    â€œYes. They have a mystery buyer, a health book buyer, a fiction buyer, and on and on. Every single one of them is white. To tell you the truth, I like the days when I hit the road with the mainstream catalog. I hate meeting with these people about the Black books. It is a constant process of education, education, and education. It is way too exhausting.”
    â€œWhat I wanna know is who this asshole thought Steve Harvey was when you first mentioned his name,” said Paul.
    We hung onto every word that