Arnetta Randall

Chloe

Excerpt

Chloe was late again to another meeting and she wondered why all her assignments were terrible and pitches were passed over. Her editor didn’t take her seriously. After getting herself presentable—an outfit that was professional yet cute, a face that looked like she was wearing no makeup at all—and stopping to get a caramel macchiato, by the time she entered the meeting, it was clear that they were wrapping up.

She thought she would be living a Carrie Bradshaw life, complete with endless martinis, the impeccable shoe collection, and a handsome millionaire to sweep her off her feet. Instead, her writing career was more similar to Andy’s in The Devil Wears Prada.

“Chloe, walk with me,” her editor Maureen told her as the room cleared out. She grabbed her coffee and hurried up behind the fast-walking, fast-talking Maureen.

“Let me guess, stayed up all night, then slept in dreaming about…”

“Trevor Noah.”

“The Daily Show?”

“Yes.”

“Ooh, he’s a cutie. You know, you should see someone about that insomnia.”

Chloe smiled and told her that she would, as she always did. She sat on the other side of the desk anxiously waiting to be reprimanded.

Maureen shuffled through a stack of papers. She picked up a sticky note that was in front of her the entire time. 

  “Have you heard of Leonard McDaniel?”

It would be impossible for Chloe not to have heard of him. The story of his death had swept the nation. A young black boy killed on the South Side of Chicago, a death the police reported was in self-defense. Newly released dash cam footage revealed the boy walking away from officers when he was gunned down. 

“Yes.”

“I want you to write about him.” 

Chloe looked around the room as if Maureen must be talking to someone else. 

“Don’t be so dramatic. Chloe, I know you’re a great writer. I think this would be a great opportunity to showcase that. And I think someone from the South Side should be the one to write about it. Talk about the perils that plague that side of the city, but humanize it.” 

“Right.”

“You're a South Sider, right?”

“Yes, I just wouldn’t describe my upbringing as perilous.” 

“You know, while in the midst of trauma, it can seem normal.”

“I think you have me confused with another Black girl.” A sly smile spread across Chloe’s face. 

“Stop it.”  Maureen stared at her a while, as if she would find the answers in her face. 

“Your father owns a funeral home.”

“And my mother is an attorney.” Chloe thought back to the five-bedroom home she grew up in with her siblings. Her childhood wasn’t perfect, but it definitely wasn’t one she needed to heal from. She thanked Maureen for her writing assignment, wanting to be done with the awkward exchange.

O

Chloe sat at her computer and looked around in excitement. She hadn’t exactly made it, but this is the closest she had come so far. She was writing about a huge case in Chicago, a topic that people would read about. In her excitement, she lost track of time. She hurriedly closed her laptop and grabbed her wristlet and phone. In the elevator, she requested a Lyft. Once downstairs, she had a two-minute wait. 

On the ride over, Chloe thought about her relationship with Dominic. She hoped things were improving between her and Dominic, her boyfriend. Their tumultuous relationship was nearing a year. Despite their problems, Chloe believed they could make it work. In the beginning, Dominic was supposed to be a rebound. He was supposed to make her forget the whirlwind that was Marquis. Marquis was her first grown-up relationship after graduating college. He was many firsts for her: first time spending the holidays with a family besides her own, first time taking a couples vacation, her first…orgasm. That last one being harder to forget than she thought. 

Things with Dominic started out fun: they went out multiple days of the week, trying new restaurants, hanging at bars. Dominic proved to be a great distraction to her heartbreak. When nights on the town turned into quiet nights at his place watching movies and ordering in, they both wondered if their casual relationship could be more. The things left unsaid would be their undoing. Her drunken nights out with friends would end with her texting her ex, Marquis, still not able to get over how she couldn’t make it work with someone she loved so much. Dominic had never had a real girlfriend, preferring to play the field, and he didn’t exactly know how to show up for Chloe or any woman. 

Tonight he had made reservations at RPM Italian because she told him she’d been craving spaghetti and meatballs. Once inside, the hostess led Chloe to a smiling Dominic; a bouquet of yellow roses was on the table. He greeted her with a hug and a quick peck on the lips. Over dinner, they laughed and joked with each other, unlike their last date night when they both checked their phones the entire time. 

“Thank you, babe. We needed this. I know things haven’t been easy. Tonight was fun.” Chloe smiled at him and reached for his hand. 

“Tonight was fun…. It was like old times.” Dominic mustered up a half smile. 

“But?” she asked, sensing that he wanted to say more. 

“I don’t know, Chloe. I don’t know if I’m any good at this whole relationship thing.” He hunched his shoulders and avoided eye contact. 

“It’s OK. I feel like we’re both still feeling things out.” Chloe had never had a successful relationship. She was more concerned with being the next big writer than being someone’s wife. She figured as long as she still had youth and beauty on her side, why settle down. 

“That’s not what I’m saying. I don’t think we should do this anymore,” he said hesitantly. 

“Do what anymore? Eat pasta at nice restaurants?” Chloe asked, getting irritated. 

“No, I don’t want us to date anymore. I don’t think this is working.” This time, he looked directly in her eyes.  

“Are you serious right now? Who in the hell invites you to a romantic dinner to break up with you?” Her outburst surprised him. Chloe, a consummate avoider of conflict, would have been cowardly: given him a phone call or sent him a long, thoughtful text message.

“You’re being loud,” Dominic said before looking around, hoping no one had heard her. 

“So?” Chloe looked over to the older couple sitting at the table next to her. “This jackass just broke up with me at my favorite restaurant,” she told them, further embarrassing Dominic. 

“That’s not nice,” the gray-haired woman said, shaking her head at Dominic. 

“I’m sorry, Chloe,” Dominic said, hoping to calm her down. He reached out to her and she quickly pulled her hand out of reach. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t swipe left on your crazy ass. I’m sorry I responded to your dumbass ‘hi cutie’ message,” Chloe practically screamed. 

She got up to leave. She quickly returned and took another forkful of the pasta. She picked up her roses and pointed them at him. She looked down at her pasta. 

“Damn, this is good.” She took another forkful before taking the whole bowl. She held the bowl in one hand, the flowers under her arm and stuck up her middle finger with her free hand. Dominic stood up and tried to plead with her. 

“Chloe, that’s really how you’re about to act right now?” he said, much louder than he intended, unable to control his frustration. 

She ignored him and continued walking out the restaurant. He looked over to the older woman at the next table and she stuck her middle finger up at him.

About the Author

Arnetta Randall received a BA in Creative Writing from the University of Illinois and is currently pursuing an MFA in Writing from Columbia University. Randall has received fellowships from Callaloo, Kimbilio and Hurston/Wright workshops. Randall’s writing has been featured in Black Youth Project, xoNecole, and Nia Magazine.