Black Woman in a White Bikini

Sadly, and unfortunately, those of us who aren't rich are doomed to always be poor. Those of us who aren't rich won't live as long, will never get the best education, the best nutrition, and/or the best healthcare. Something that should be available for everyone and not denied to anyone, longevity, education, nutrition, and healthcare are exclusive privileges for the rich and not for the poor. Yet, greed, along with our elected, self-serving officials, have ruined this country by busting the unions, obliterating manufacturing, and sending our higher paying jobs overseas.

Yet, no matter how and where we were born, no matter if we were born rich or poor or white or black, shouldn't define how we're treated as Americans and as United States citizens. It's not fair that the rich live longer, are better educated, are much healthier, and live more rewarding lives. At the very least, it's not right that we don't have access to education, nutrition, and healthcare. When other industrialized countries not as rich and/or powerful as the United States, treat their people, especially the poor, sick, and elderly better, we should at least do the same.

With every single question answered by one five, letter, two-syllable word, money, and with everything in the world all about money, we're all nothing and nobodies if we don't have money. America the land of the unfree and the home of the enslaved, no one cares about the sick, the infirmed, the elderly, and the poor. Since we can't afford to hire lobbyists, we don't have a voice in making policy decisions and laws that directly and indirectly affect us. With everything remaining the same and nothing changing, we're all doomed to fail or succeed from birth.

Worse than not having a voice in political discussions, decisions, and laws that directly or indirectly affect us, we don't have a vote. Forget about Russia playing a part in our elections, talk about a rigged voting system, our votes are neutralized by the rightwing, powerful, influential, and well-funded system of those with self-serving interests who confuse, deceive, trick, and lie. Never mind our politicians claiming that they're public servants, they are nothing more than cogs pushing the personal agendas of billionaires. They are foils for the political machines funded by private foundations created by billionaires to spin their lies as the truth.

'Money, it's all about money. Power, it's all about power. Political influence, it's all about political influence.'

Nothing has changed since the beginning of time. What chance do any of us have for anything in a system that has been rigged to favor the rich over the poor? Be it kings, billionaires, rulers, the Catholic Church, or politicians, the rest of us are at the bottom of the heap trying to get a leg up over those who are just like us and who want more.

"Please, Sir, I want some more," said Oliver Twist to Mr. Bumble in Charles Dickens' David Copperfield.

# # # # #

"Hey, girl," said Shonice waving her hand as if she was crinkling up cellophane. "Guess where Tyrone is taking me for our summer vacation."

In the way that Shonice excitedly approached her, Violet knew Tyrone was taking her somewhere nice and somewhere expensive. Keeping up his reputation by safeguarding his street corners, she knew wherever they went that they wouldn't be gone long, a week at the most. He made his money selling drugs and prostituting women. All disposable, cash income, he had plenty of tax free dough to take her wherever she wanted to go.

Trying not to show her jealousy, Violet smiled her curiosity at her best friend. When every man she dated only wanted one thing, sex, mostly blowjobs, putting her love life and sex life on hold, she no longer dated. With all men players and no man wanting to commit to an exclusive relationship, dating a myriad of men who never called her for a second date was a waste of her time. Besides, she didn't have time to date. Committed to being successful in her chosen career and in making enough money to support herself, her job took whatever free time she had.

"I'll bite," said Violet with a smile. "Where is Tyrone taking you this time?"

Happy for her friend, she only wished that she'd hook up with a better man than a drug dealing pimp. Once he found someone younger, prettier, sexier, and shapelier, once he lost interest in her and dumped her for another woman, she feared her friend would be hurt. With Shonice a good-looking, black woman with a sexy and shapely figure, there were plenty of black men who'd love to put a ring on her finger and make her their forever woman.

As far as she was concerned, thinking of only sexually satisfying himself, Tyrone was a player and a dead end. A good-looking man, as tall as he was slim, Tyrone looked like Avon Barksdale, played by Wood Harris, in the TV series, The Wire. If they were to marry, he'd give her friend some beautiful, black children, if only he'd settle down and give up his life of crime. Only, with a man who didn't even have a high school education, it was difficult to walk away from a business where selling drugs and prostituting women earned more than a million, tax free dollars a year.

In the way that he was making loads of money, buying flashy clothes and expensive cars, partying with strippers, and passing out money to his friends and relatives, he'd never stop hustling. With him not having the education to find a high paying 9 to 5 job, hustling on the streets was all that he knew. She didn't have to be psychic to know that his life would either end in a ten-foot by ten-foot prison cell or in a two and a half by eight-foot grave. She knew that she'd either go to jail as an accomplice with him, be killed in a shootout, or end up as a widow if she married him.

"He's taking me to Point Pelee National Park in Ontario," said Shonice jumping up and down with excitement. "We're going for the whole week. He booked us a suite at the Harbour Square Suites," said Shonice. "It's going to be nothing but eating, drinking, and having sex," she said with a dirty laugh while elongating and enunciating the words, eating, drinking, and having sex.

Shonice moved her hand back and forth in front of her mouth and pushed her cheek in and out with her tongue as if giving Tyrone a blowjob. Happy for her, Violet smiled and hugged her friend. Unfortunately and sexually frustratingly, Shonice had given her a sexual image of sucking cock that made her horny. It had been a while since Violet held a man in her hand, took him in her mouth, and/or allowed him to hump her pussy.

"I'm happy for you, Shonice. I've never been there but I heard it was quite nice, "I heard from Ramona that it's as beautiful as it is expensive," said Violet suddenly looking sad. "Actually, I've never been anywhere but Detroit," said Violet lamenting what she said with a sad, little laugh.

Shonice was obvious in her attempt in trying to encourage her best friend to go somewhere for her summer vacation. Every year, she tried to coerce Violet to take a vacation instead of taking her vacation time in additional two-week pay. Shonice looked at her best friend, who she had known from childhood, with concern.

"What about you, Pecola?

Violet made a disapproving face while Shonice laughed.

"Don't call me that," said Violet. "You know I don't like that name."

Shonice rolled her eyes as if her friend was being too sensitive.

"Sorry," said Shonice. "I was only kidding around...Pecola," she said again while laughing.

Ever since she was a kid, Shonice and all their inner-city friends called Violet, Pecola, after Pecola Breedlove, the main character in Toni Morrison's novel, The Bluest Eye. A very pretty, albeit mixed-race woman, Violet had the blue eyes that Pecola prayed to have in the novel. In the way that Violet once prayed to be accepted as a light skinned, part white, mixed-race, African American, black girl, Pecola, a black girl, prayed for her eyes to turn blue. Especially when living in Detroit, even though there were many residents who were light skinned and of mixed-race, it still wasn't easy going through life being so conspicuously different.

In the book, Pecola thought that blue eyes without even having blonde hair and white skin was all that she needed to be as beautiful and as beloved as all the blonde haired and blue-eyed children in America. With one foot entrenched in the black world, Violet was nearly white enough to pass as Caucasian. Especially with her blue eyes and her lush, beautiful, blue-black, straight hair, she sometimes looked more Caucasian than she looked black. Yet, in the end, with one race not accepting nor tolerant of the other, with her being of mixed-race, she was rejected by both races.

She had personal struggles that Shonice didn't have or even know about. Sometimes treating her as if she was an alien from Venus, no one knew how to identify her. When they did identify her as being black or white instead of mix-race, they incorrectly identified her. They interacted with her based on who they thought she was and were angry with her for not choosing being black or white. Tired of being called mulatto, mixed race, or half-breed, it took her years to stop hating herself and everyone else around her. If she felt anything, after defusing her angry with therapy, she felt isolated.

"What do you mean?" She knew exactly what her friend meant. "What about me?"

Violet already knew what Shonice was going to ask and delaying her response, she needed the extra time to think of a good answer.

"What I mean is, are you doing anything, and/or going anywhere this summer," she said making a face while rolling her eyes and sighing. She obviously knew that her friend wouldn't be doing anything or going anywhere this summer as she never did or went anywhere any summer? With all the crime, desperation, and hopelessness, summers in Detroit were just as sweltering hot as they were violently dangerous. "Other than commuting back and forth to work, you don't go anywhere or do anything? Work is all you do. Always working, you never have any fun."

Not about to tell her that she had no plans for the summer in the way that she told Shonice that every year, inspired by her friend going away again for her summer vacation, Violet decided to create a fictional vacation. Only, as soon as she said where she was going, sorry she said anything at all, Violet felt ridiculous for giving Shonice such an out of this world, vacation spot location. As soon as she said where she was going, as if her going there was meant to be, she suddenly wanted to go to there.

Why not? Why can't a black woman of mixed-race go there too or go anywhere she wanted? Besides, she hasn't had a vacation in years? With Shonice going here, there, and everywhere at the expense of her deep pocketed boyfriend, why should her friend have all the fun? Being that this is the United States and being that she was born here and was an American and a United States citizen, why couldn't she go anywhere in the country? Other than money, what prohibits her from going anywhere she wanted to go?

# # # # #

A sexy shiver suddenly made her wet with horniness while imagining Shonice sucking Tyrone's cock before he bent her over the bed and fucked her. In the way that Shonice would have a week of sex, Violet wished she could experience having a week of sex too. Only, with her not having a man in her life, she had no one to satisfy her loneliness, her horniness, and give her sexual orgasms. Other than with her fingers and her inanimate objects, her vibrator and her dildo, she didn't have anyone to put an end to her sexual frustration.

"Actually, I'm going to the Hamptons for the summer," said Violet with attitude.

Not saying that she was going for a weekend or a week, she said she was going to the Hamptons for the summer. Surprising even herself, she said the words as if someone else had said the words. As soon as she said where she was going, as if really going there, she couldn't believe she said where she was going.

'Lord Almighty,' she thought. 'Why did I tell her that I was going to the Hamptons for the summer?'

In all the years, she had known Shonice, she had never lied to her friend. In all the years, she had known Shonice, she had never been jealous of her until now. Because of Tyrone, Shonice was always going places and doing things. Hating to admit it, her friend was right, all she did was work. She was suddenly tired of working. As if she was running a race on a treadmill, other than saving a few dollars, and with her never earning enough money to do anything or go anywhere, she never seemed to get ahead.

She fluffed back her shoulder length, lush, black hair with a toss of her pretty head and a with practiced hand. She flashed her friend a big, white toothed, blue-eyed smile as if she was a light skinned, Miss World contestant from the West Indies. Continuing her lie, too late to take back what she said ow, she surprised herself by elaborating on the lie to her friend.

There was no way that she could afford to take a week off never mind going to the Hamptons for the summer. The last thing she wanted to do was to spend her last, saved dollar on a summer vacation. Unless she went there or Googled it online, there was no way that she could continue the lie when she returned home from her imaginary vacation in the Hamptons. Besides, she couldn't take a summer off from work, she'd lose her job if she did. All she had was a two-week, paid vacation.

Truth be told, a fantasyland where the rich and famous played and vacationed, having never been there, she didn't even know where the Hamptons were exactly, somewhere on the New York coast, she guessed. From reading F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel, The Great Gatsby, she imagined that the fictionalized East Egg and West Egg were that of Great Neck and Manhasset Bay of the East and West Hamptons of today. In the way that she imagined the exclusiveness of the Hamptons in the roaring twenties then, she imagined the elitism of the Hamptons now.

"The Hamptons? Say what? You ain't going to no Hamptons," said Shonice making a face before laughing. "Who do you think you are, J Lo? Only Beyoncé can afford to go to the Hamptons for the summer. Unless he's a pimp ass drug dealer like my Tyrone, ain't no nigga from Detroit able to afford to vacation for the whole summer in the Hamptons," said Shonice.

Shonice laughed again before making another face as if she had broken a nail or someone dared to touch her weave. She stared at her friend as if she was joking. She stared at her friend as if she was suddenly jealous that Violet was going somewhere she had never been and most likely would never go. In that moment, Violet feared that Shonice may ask Tyrone to take her to the Hamptons. Only, a place he'd never go, she knew her lie was safe from detection. Nonetheless, Shonice looked at Violet as if she had just splashed water in her face.

"I am. I'm going to vacation for the summer in the Hamptons," said Violet figuring that she'd stay a few days and make an excuse why she had to cut short her vacation and return home. She tossed back her lush, blue-black hair again with a flip of her pretty head. "I always wanted to go there. I always wanted to see how the top one-percent lived and played," said Violet.

Shonice made another face, this time as if she had just swallowed a bug.

"Who do you know in the Hamptons?" Shonice looked at her friend as if not ready to believe her. "Did you get an invite from someone?"

While pointing a manicured finger of disbelief at her, Shonice put her other hand on her shapely hip to emphasis her face of disbelief while moving her head forward as if craning her neck to listen to a whispered conversation.

"I don't know anyone who lives in the Hamptons," admitted Violet while trying to show her friend that she wasn't lying about vacationing there. "I didn't receive an invitation from anyone. I've always been curious to go there. Now, suddenly, as if compelled to go there, for some reason, I feel that it's part of my fated destiny to visit the Hamptons," said Violet as if she suddenly had a clairvoyant vision and psychic abilities.

Shonice made another face at her friend in the way that she made a face whenever Tyrone told her that he was working late. Work late her ass. Since when does a drug dealing pimp have to work late? Either he was at a strip club with strippers or doing something illegal with his drug dealing gang.

"Compelled to go there? Your fated destiny?" Shonice laughed again. "There ain't no black people or mixed-race people there, Pecola. There's only rich, white people there," said Shonice laughing yet again while making exclamation points with her hand and finger. "Ain't no rich, white people want any of us inner-city niggas going there."

Violet shrugged her indifference. She hated anyone calling her a nigger, even her black friend. Yet, she'd rather be called a nigga than a honky or a cracka. She'd rather be black then mixed. She'd rather be accepted by one race or the other race rather than to be rejected by both races.

"I know that," said Violet. I know that more than you do, she wanted to say but didn't say how she felt hurt when her friend continued calling her Pecola. "Don't you think I know that?"

As if she was keeping a secret that she wasn't about to share, Violet acted as if she was an invited guest of one of the Hampton's famous residents. She acted as she had received a personal, engraved, hand delivered invitation on a silver platter from P Diddy, aka Puff Daddy, aka Sean John Combs, Kourtney Kardashian, Madonna, Brooke Shields, Jerry Seinfeld, Martha Stewart, Calvin Klein, Carl Icahn, or Christie Brinkley. Only, she didn't know any of those rich celebrities.

Something that Shonice would never understand, Violet decided to throw caution to the wind. A place she knew she wouldn't be welcome, she decided to risk her fate to serendipity and go there. Making no plans in advance, she didn't even know where she'd stay.

"No matter how beautiful you think you are, Violet, you ain't gonna fit in there," said Shonice trying to talk some sense to her friend. "Uhh-huh," she said slowly shaking her head from side-to-side.

Suddenly showing her jealousy again that she wasn't going to the Hamptons too, Shonice tried to burst her bubble. Violet saw a side of her friend that she had never seen before. With her always wishing she was as dark as her friend, Shonice looked at her as if she wished she was as light as her friend. With the grass always greener on the other side of the fence, whether a man or a woman, white or black, or rich or poor, seemingly no one is happy with themselves. Seemingly, everyone wishes they were someone or something else.

"I know my place, Shonice. I'm not trying to fit in where I don't belong. I'm just want to go someplace as exclusive as it is beautiful," said Violet. "For once in my life, I'd like to see how the rich people live. I'd like to see something other than the dangerous streets of Detroit. Who knows? Maybe I'll even see a celebrity," said Violet with a look of excited expectation, anticipation, whimsy, and hopefulness.

Suddenly, in the way that Pecola dreamt of having blue eyes, Violet dreamt of being rich. Having recently read The Secret by Rhonda Byrne and watched the video, she focused her energy in fantasizing of being swept off her feet by someone she met in the Hamptons, a tall, dark, rich stranger. Now that she said she was going there, she had to continue her lie that she was going there. Yet, as if it was fated to be, the Hamptons was where she needed to go to hopefully find love, romance, and riches.

"Uhh-uh," said Shonice shrugging her indifference while wagging her index finger in her face. "If you think you're gonna meet someone rich, girl, those rich, white folks aren't gonna allow a mulatto, girl from Detroit to mingle with their precious, Ivy League sons. Uh-uh, girl, that ain't never gonna happen."