Doing the Dream Box Sweat
It’s the 1920s, an era of hope and optimism for blacks struggling for self-identity. In this engrossing three-part tale, we meet two best friends, Olive Charleston and Edwina Tyler. Although separated by distance and circumstances, the two women experience growing pains while discovering who they truly are—realizing that they too have something special to contribute in a world of possibilities.

Story One: Olive dreams of falling in love and having more to look forward to than her daily duties as sole caretaker for her invalid mother and disabled sister. Her mother’s constant nagging and control over her life makes it difficult for her to feel like her future will be any different, until, the handsome Chase Watson enters the picture. Can she finally break free of her stifling existence?

Story Two: Edwina and Darryl Tyler are newlyweds living in the midst of the energetic Harlem social scene. Edwina considers Darryl a great catch, that is, until her marriage begins to show signs of serious trouble. Is she willing to stay with the less supportive, Darryl, or take a chance on a new life, and a new love?

Story Three: Olive’s sister, Prissy, is getting married to the man of her dreams and needs her sister’s love and support. Olive is all set to be the maid of honor, but there’s just one problem—her lingering feelings for the groom. Can she accept the choices she’s made and let go of old baggage?

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EXCERPT: STORY ONE

Charleston residence, 1923

It’s a hot summer day in upstate New York, and at a modest Victorian country frame house, a humid haze hangs in the air that threatens to stifle the energy out of anyone who dares venture out into it.
Olive Charleston, a thirty year old, unmarried black woman, dressed in a long black cotton skirt, starched white blouse, and black high button shoes, will not let the heat keep her from the one thing that she looked forward to everyday.
Olive paces impatiently back and forth on her front porch while fanning herself with an old magazine in a futile attempt to cool off. Her clothes have become even more restrictive and uncomfortable due to the oppressive heat.
A young postman, about twenty-four years old with wavy black hair and smiling eyes, appears on foot to deliver the mail.
“Good afternoon, Miss Charleston.”
“Afternoon, I was waiting for you. Is there anything for me? I mean, personally addressed to me?”
The postman takes some mail out of his almost empty leather bag. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t really check. I hope there is, though. I’d sure like to bring a smile to your face.”
The postman winks at Olive as he hands her the mail. He secretly has a crush on her, and longs to tell her so, but keeps it to himself out of his fear of appearing improper. Olive ignores the flirtatious gesture and quickly leafs through the stack of envelopes.
“Bill, bill, business . . . Oh good! This one’s mine.”
The postman wipes his sweaty brow, desiring to keep their conversation going a little bit longer.
“Oooweee! I tell ya, Miss Charleston. This has gotta be the hottest day on record. Seems like it’s taken me twice as long to make my rounds than usual.”
Olive is still staring at her envelope. The postman has become a minor distraction.
“Yeah. It is hot, isn’t it?”
“I tell ya. If this keeps up, I’m gonna havta carry around a block of ice with me and rub it all over to keep cool.”
The postman gives a good-natured laugh. Olive wishes the postman would leave so she can go inside and open her letter. He always wanted to stop and talk to her for some reason. She indulged him politely, only because she didn’t want to be rude.
“Um hmm. That’s a nice idea. It’s almost unbearable today. As a matter of fact, I’m going inside right now to pull all the drapes around the house. Mama needs to keep cool.”
Olive fans herself with the mail in her hands. She really wants to go back inside. “Thank you for the mail, Eddie. I hope you don’t get too uncomfortable before you finish your rounds.”
Olive turns to go inside the house. When she looks back, the postman is still standing there staring at her.
“Good day.”
“Yeah well, you’re my last stop anyways. Always a pleasure ma’am.”
Eddie, the postman, tips his cap and walks down the street.
Olive hurries inside the house. She rushes up the stairs to her room on the second floor and closes her bedroom door, except for a crack, so she can hear if anyone needs her.
Olive tosses the other mail aside so she can better concentrate on the big brown envelope, with the fancy stamps, that had her name on it. She’s so excited she can barely stand it. Olive rips the envelope open and takes out a handwritten letter. Several professionally done black and white photos of a very pretty black woman, around her own age, spill out onto the bed.
Olive looks through the photos with obvious pleasure and curiosity. This was a surprise she hadn’t expected. Suddenly, a high-pitched voice pierces the air, interrupting her enjoyment. It was her invalid mother, Lunetta Charleston, calling out to Olive from her downstairs bedroom.
“Olive! Where are you girl? Olive!!
Olive quickly puts down the photos and hurries out the door and down the stairs. Olive enters Mama Charleston’s bedroom with a mixture of annoyance and trepidation. She never knew what mood her mother was going to be in until she was forced to face the older woman. Knowing her mama like she did, she figured she was going to hear a complaint about something. The woman never seemed to like anything Olive did.

********************

Lunetta Charleston, who was wearing a long white cotton nightgown, sat up in bed giving her oldest daughter a disapproving look.
“What’cho been doing, girl? I’ve been sitting in here roasting for a good hour, with no relief. Kept calling you. No answer.”
“I’ve been out waiting for the mail, mama. Sorry, I didn’t hear you calling.”
“What’s so damn important about the mail? I’m in here roasting my brains out and you’re talking about waiting for some mail. Is the mail more important to you than your poor, laid up mama? Lying here helplessly. Can’t even get up an get a glass of water for myself.”
Mama was milking her misery again, Olive thought.
“No ma’am. Mama I left you a glass of cool water right there on your nightstand.”
Lunetta glances over at the half-full glass and scrunches up her nose. “The ice melted in it a long time ago. It’s too warm to drink.”
Lunetta Charleston narrows her eyes.
“I know you were waiting for something from that Edwina friend of yours again. Weren’t you?”
Olive becomes defiant. Her mother had turned against her best friend, Edwina, simply because she had moved to the big city. She wrongly assumed that everyone who lived in a big city was inherently sinful. Olive thought this kind of thinking was silly.
“So what if I was. It’s not a crime is it?”
“Don’t sass me, girl. That girl is no good. Moving to New York City, that den of iniquity. She’s a bad influence, and if I could get around like I used to, I’d burn everything she sent you. You wouldn’t see any of it. Trying to corrupt one of my daughters.”
Olive calmly goes about her business—she’s used to her mother’s preachy opinions.
“She’s a nice girl, mama, and my best friend. She’s not corrupting me at all.”
Olive removes the bedpan, yellow urine sloshing around inside, from underneath the covers and fluffs her mother’s down filled pillows.
Not willing to let well enough alone, Lunetta Charleston examines every inch of Olive’s appearance. “Oh yeah? Why are you looking so messy then? You know I like neatness. Your hair’s flying all over. And why is the top buttons open on your blouse? You trying to give someone a peek?”
Olive touches the tight bun on the top of her head. It was still holding up nicely in spite of a few flyaway hairs. Her mother insisted that she always wear her hair up, and that her body be properly covered at all times. Even in heat like this, she was expected to keep her modesty in tact.
Olive wearily glances at herself in the mirror. She notices the perspiration stains under her armpits.
“It’s hot, mama.”
Olive leaves the room. Lunetta Charleston continues her nagging.
“That’s no excuse! Messiness is the bane of a decent woman! I raised you better than that. If you give a man a reason to look, he’s gonna take all he can get from you. I’ve told you time and time again, Olive. Keeping a proper appearance is the mark of a virtuous woman!”
Olive shouts back from the kitchen.
“It’s too hot, mama!!”
When Olive comes back into the bedroom, she’s carrying a fresh glass of ice water. She gingerly hands it to her mother. “Here. Drink this, mama. It should keep you cool while I fix lunch.”
Olive leaves the room again.
“You button up your blouse before you come back in here, you hear? And bring me the drumstick off that cold chicken!”

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EXCERPT: STORY TWO

Harlem, New York, 1925

Edwina Tyler, a thirty-two year old classic brown beauty, stands in front of an easel, working on a painting depicting life in a typical Harlem neighborhood. The small room’s furniture is draped over with white sheets to protect them from being splattered with paint.
Several of Edwina’s original oil paintings, some finished, some not, are scattered about the room.
Edwina’s husband, Darryl, tall, dark, and dashingly handsome, enters the room with his usual good humor.
“Hello, Dwee! How’s my pretty miss artist doing today?”
Darryl kisses Edwina on the cheek.
“Hi honey. I’m just putting the finishing touches on my latest creation. Do you like it?”
Darryl examines the painting with a critical eye.
“Um hmm. Are you gonna hang this one in the living room, or is it gonna sit here on the floor like the others?”
Edwina squints when she looks over her painting with her inner critic.
“Well, Darryl, I just don’t think it’s quite good enough to be seen by other people. I’m still experimenting.”
Darryl thought Edwina was being overly picky, but who was he to argue? He was happy that his wife at least had a hobby that she enjoyed.
“It looks okay to me, but it’s your decision.”
Darryl rubs his stomach to indicate it was empty.
“I’m hungry. We got any more of those cold biscuits left?”
Edwina sees her chance to plant an idea into her busy husband’s head.
“Yeah, but you don’t need to eat those. I thought we could eat something together today. I planned a nice brunch, with your favorite—crab cakes and eggs.”
Darryl picks up on the fact that Edwina is trying to bribe him with food, but he can’t let his business slide just to please the wife. Edwina will just have to understand that his photography customers were his priority. After all, those very same customers were responsible for keeping a roof over their heads.
“I can’t, hon. I’m just too busy today. That photo session with Mrs. Waters and her dog lasted longer than I thought. Took me the whole morning to get that damn dog posed right. Now, I’ve got the clients for my next photo session waiting in the studio.”
Darryl pulls a gold watch out of his pocket and checks the time.
“I only have time for a few bites.”
Edwina’s face reflects her extreme disappointment.
“Oh, Darryl. I was looking forward to enjoying a romantic Sunday afternoon. Just you and me, like we used to do. Can’t you cancel them for today? For me?”
Darryl gently grabs his wife by the arms and looks directly into her big brown eyes, with their naturally curled long lashes. Boy, his sweet, little wife was such a beauty, it sure was tempting to take her up on her offer, but then his mind wanders over to the image of his clients sitting in his studio waiting for him. Nope. He wasn’t about to cancel this appointment.
“I’m sorry, Dwee, I just can’t do that. I made a commitment. You understand, right?”
“I guess. Who’re these clients?”
Darryl slips his hands in his pockets and avoids looking Edwina straight in the eyes.
“Just a couple of ladies. You don’t know them.”
Edwina grows suspicious.
“Ladies, huh? Are they paying ladies?”
Darryl had hoped this conversation wouldn’t come up.
“Well uh, actually they’re uh . . . models.”
Edwina sets her paintbrush down and puts her hands on her hips.
“Damnit, Darryl. You can’t have brunch with your wife, but you can take nude pictures of a couple of floosies! How insensitive can you be?”
Darryl knows he better smooth things over, quick.
“They’re not floosies, Edwina, they’re models, okay? And, I don’t take naked pictures, but my artistic interpretation of the female form.”
Edwina can’t believe he’s using this excuse.
“Artistic? Ha! Since when is it artistic to take nude photos?”
“You’ve painted nude figures before.”
“From a book!”
Darryl is determined to get out of his wife’s line of fire as soon as possible.
“You didn’t have a problem with it when I took nudes of you.”
“That’s different. We were engaged.”
Darryl hated when Edwina acted like a prude. Maybe she was just a tiny bit jealous of his buxom lady friends.
“Edwina, you’re being hypocritical. I have as much right to practice my art as you do. Besides, I make money from selling some of the nude photos to various interested parties.”
Edwina scoffs at this.
“Art connoisseurs like yourself, no doubt.”
“Fellow appreciators of the human body. Look, I’ve gotta get going, Dwee. I’ll see you later.”
Darryl takes a few steps towards the door, then whirls around to make one last point.
“Relax, babe. It’s really not a big deal. These are modern times, you know.”
Darryl saunters out of the room.
Edwina experiences the mild hurt from her husband ignoring her feelings.
“I know.”

********************

Edwina sits alone at the dining room table eating the special brunch she prepared. An empty place setting, where Darryl should be sitting, happily eating and talking with her, silently mocks her with its flowered china patterned plate, perfectly folded white napkin, and polished silver place setting. Edwina stares emptily at the rose centerpiece.
“Hello there rose. I guess it’s just you and me today. Can the honeymoon be over already? What happened to our romance?”

********************

Inside the Tyler Picture Studio, which was located in another section of the house, Darryl prepares to take pictures of two, pretty black models. The models sit on top of tall stools that are positioned in front of a countertop prop.
Both women wear long, flowing black wigs, feather boas, and panties. One of the models, whose name is Pearl, holds a large fan decorated with Asian characters and pastel flowers. Agnes, the younger model, holds a plume of ostrich feathers.
Darryl stands in the middle of the studio floor giving directions to get them into the perfect pose.
“Now, Pearl, I want you to sit like this with your feet crossed, holding the fan in front of your chest.”
Pearl follows Darryl’s instructions.
“Like this?”
Darryl nods his approval.
“Yeah, that‘s good. Now lean back on your other arm. Good.”
Darryl directs his attention to Agnes.
“Agnes, I want you to sit facing Pearl with your left leg dangling and your right one drawn up.”
Agnes poses as Darryl tells her.
“Yes, that’s it. Keep the feather between your legs and look at me. Smile for daddy.”
The two models display their gleaming white teeth. However, Darryl thinks they look a bit too innocent. He knew exactly what his male clients wanted in their nudie photos.
“Not too much. Look a little naughty for daddy. Alright, that’s it. Perfect! Don’t move.”
Darryl hurries over to his professional Kodak camera, which sits on a sturdy wooden tripod. He looks through the lens and adjusts the focus.
“Okay now, I’m gonna take it on the count of three. Ready? One, two, three.”
Darryl snaps the picture. Afterwards, Pearl and Agnes relax. Agnes, who had never posed before, is excited to be a part of a professional photo shoot.
“How was that, Darrylsie? Did we look okay?”
“You look really great ladies. You two are the best looking models I’ve had yet.”
“Don’t listen to him, Agnes. He says that to all the girls once their clothes are off.”
Pearl should know. She’s been in his studio numerous times.
Agnes looks flirtatiously at the handsome Darryl Tyler.
“Is that true, Darrylsie? Do you take our beautiful bodies for granted?”
“All the time. Pearl’s got my number, if you know what I mean? I’m an alley cat with a lustful eye. I yowl at the sight of hot, young flesh.”
Darryl yowls like a wolf for effect. His antics make the two women laugh.
“In that case, maybe I should spread my legs and let you yowl up a little bit closer,” Pearl teased.
Darryl smiles sheepishly at Pearl.
“I ah, would take you up on that, Pearl, but my wife, who’s in the other room, might object.”
Agnes finds it hard to believe that an obviously hot guy like Darryl would get himself tied down to a wife. If he were her man, she’d have him busy doing other things with his time, like pleasing her in bed.
“I wouldn’t blame her,” Agnes said. “I’d find it hard to be married to a guy who likes to take photos of young, hot-blooded girls like us. Doesn’t your wife mind you doing this?”
Darryl puts his hands in his pockets and idles over to the women.
“It’s not a question of whether she minds or not. It’s a matter of what I want. You see, in all seriousness ladies, you’re not just models to me, but creatures of beauty.”
Darryl plays with the feathers on Agnes’ boa. She bats her eyes flirtatiously at him.
“I enjoy using my skills and imagination to bring your unique inner essence into photographic form, one that will be admired by others. The sweet purity of your images will last for years to come.”
Darryl winks at the models slyly.
“Besides, you’re more interesting to photograph than her.”
Agnes and Pearl giggle at this admission.

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black relationships, black novels