Queen Move

“Can we make the hair a little bigger, Lorette?” she asks.

“Bigger?” Lorette, Kayla’s hair stylist, and I ask in shocked unison.

“If this hair gets any bigger,” I say, patting my natural curls Lorette volumized considerably, “I’ll float right back to the eighties.”

The three of us laugh in the small dressing room as I wait for the producer to come get me.

“If you’re going on national television defending our right to wear our hair however the hell we want,” Kayla says, “I say go big.”

“I think this is big enough.” I glance in the mirror. It’s hard to believe that’s my hair dusting my shoulders. “Remember when I did the big chop?”

“Oh my God.” Kayla cackles. “Mama is still not over you cutting all your hair off. She called you Florida Evans for months.”

“I remember.” I roll my eyes. “But I was tired of putting chemicals in my hair. It’s taken years to grow back, but I’ve never regretted it.”

“It took me a few years to get up the nerve.” Kayla pats her short cap of natural hair. “But I can’t see myself going back either.”

“And you shouldn’t have to,” I say. “And if someone wants to perm their hair, they shouldn’t be condemned for that either. That’s what tonight is about. Being able to be our authentic selves and not be punished for it.”

“And about calling out Congressman Ruiz’s future opponent, right?” Kayla grins knowingly.

“Oh, yes. That, too. It’s a risky move, but I think it will pay off. We’ll see if I’m right.”

My phone buzzes on the dressing room counter. Ezra’s name flashes up.

“Oh.” Kayla purses her lips. “A little birdie told me something about you and Ezra Stern.”

“Lemme guess. That little birdie was our brother? Keith doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” I pick up the phone, and I step out into the hall to gain the tiniest measure of privacy.

“Hey, Ez.”

“Tru, hey.”

By some silent, mutual agreement, we both fall quiet. I’m remembering our kisses in his car this morning. Urgent and hungry. I’m remembering last night, how we couldn’t get to each other fast enough. How my desire for him was fathoms deep. How I couldn’t reach the bottom of it.

“I can’t wait to see you,” I tell him, hush-voiced, making sure no one is around.

“You have no idea. I miss you already. What time are you coming for dinner?”

“I, um, let me call you when I’m on my way. I’m kind of in the middle of something and I’m not sure how long it will take.” I squeeze my eyes shut tight. “I’m going on CNN.”

“That’s great. What are you talking about?”

I give him the abbreviated version of what Piers found and how it’s been reported.

“And by commenting on this,” he says at the end of my explanation, “you kill two birds with one stone? Exposing Colson’s discriminatory practices and—”

“And taking Ruiz’s probable greatest threat down a peg or two, while giving us a sore spot to return to for black and brown female voters when the election rolls around. He thinks he needs the good ol’ boys to win this state. I want him to realize we can take this state with a broader coalition than that. This is one step in that strategy.”

“It’s a queen move.”

I chuckle, liking the sound of it, but not fully understanding. “What do you mean?”

“In chess—”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“As I was saying—” He pauses meaningfully, a smile in his voice. “In chess, when you run an attack on your opponent, you need the queen’s strength. It’s easier to capture a king using the queen than any other piece on the board. You are running offense on Ruiz’s behalf.”