Searching for Tina Turner by Jacqueline E. Luckett

so easy to give up your dreams.”
    “You don’t have to give up anything, and you don’t have to meet any of Randall’s stupid ultimatums. This is
not
a corporate takeover. Tell
him
to go fuck himself. If you don’t want to have a goddammed party, don’t.”
    “It’s too late. I’ve already called everybody and shopped at three different stores.”
    Lena senses Bobbie shaking her head on the other side of the line. Unh. Unh. Unh. Exit, stick to the twisty road, left at
     the stoplight, one right, another couple of lefts, and she is almost home. From a half block away, Lena watches exhaust sputter
     from Kendrick’s nearly new, lemon-colored Mustang. A brown delivery truck blocks his car. She extends her hand out of the
     open window and waves to Kendrick and the deliveryman.
    “Stop waiting for Randall’s permission. Let’s see, when you were seventeen you waited for Leonard Templeton to ask you to
     the Senior Ball. As I recall, you never went. You waited for Randall to tell you when you could go back to work. And you still
     don’t work.”
    The second time she asked, they sat on the couch in Randall’s home office working on a speech he was about to give at the
     annual board of directors’ meeting. He read it through, noting changes, words, phrases, commas, and periods that gave him
     time to breathe or the audience to ponder. Lena suggested memorizing the first paragraph to make immediate contact with the
     audience and gain acceptance and interest right away.
    “I went to the bank today,” she said.
    Whether he heard her or not, she couldn’t tell. He recited the first paragraph, experimented with his delivery—serious, with
     humor, smiling, not smiling, hands, no hands. “When I gave my father his first cell phone last year, he was astonished at
     the power of such a small device. ‘Dad,’ I said, ‘you ain’t seen nothing yet.’ As I stand before you, on the cusp of a new
     century, ready to introduce the future of telecommunications, I speak those same words to you as I did to my father: ladies
     and gentlemen, you ain’t seen nothing yet!”
    As soon as he finished, her thumbs lifted in approval, Lena started again. “I talked to the manager about my photography business.
     It’s been two years, and I’m ready.” She smiled at the end of her sentence, hoping her declaration was light enough to encourage
     Randall’s agreement.
    “You’re happy aren’t you? The kids are happy. I’m happy.” He took her hand and didn’t wait for her reply. “I know I promised,
     and I mean to keep that promise.” Randall stood and paced the length of his office, delivering his words in the same way he
     had practiced his speech: her expertise, her willingness to polish his speeches, not to mention her first-rate entertaining
     had become critical to his success.
    “Bottom line, the next couple of years are key. I know we can make this work.” He knelt in front of her, his eyes willing
     her to agree. “C’mon, Lena, it hasn’t been that bad, has it? You help me, and I’ll help you. I’m not breaking my promise,
     just asking for an extension.”
    Hadn’t she known it would come to this moment all along? Lena swore she could handle all of that, take a few classes, develop
     a signature style, and check out galleries. How many extensions would it take to get to her dream? She reminded Randall that
     she had multitasked her way through kids and work and entertaining and managing the household for years. It would work, she
     reasoned, until she heard him say his goal was to be CEO. The sensation, like vertigo, went from head past stomach to knees
     easier than she thought it would. Like falling into a cushy ball of fluff. Surrender. Without fight, without words, just the
     certainty that the loyalty Randall valued would cost her her soul.
    “Okay! I get it. There’s a delivery truck in my driveway. I won’t
wait
for him.” The gloved driver jumps out of the van, opens its double doors,