Meet Sunni Kali

“You are cordially invited to attend the Freelance Journalists Association Dinner this Saturday at 9:00 p.m.” The slanted, curly, dark green letters, in which the announcement was printed, equalized the affluent texture and color of the invitation’s background. I found the invitation in the middle of a book in my bathroom this past Tuesday, three days after the actual event. The woman, who had given me the invitation, was a successful book editor for a publishing company.

We met in a shoe store. She was draped in a dark, masculine grey suit, matched with a flamboyant, black
dress shirt. The sunglasses she wore was larger than her face and darker than a legal percentage of window tint. Something unusual about her mannerisms fascinated me.
I initiated a conversation on the arrangement of dark colors and before long, we acknowledged that we had more in common than mood ring clothing. As we shared tips on color coordination, she quoted a line from an article she said she loved the first minute she read it. I immediately recognized that line as something I had written two years
ago for a fashion magazine.

She smiled in delight when I, verbally, took credit for a favorite line of hers. I admitted to being a freelance journalist, writing for various magazines, in hopes that I would, one day, be able to express my quirky observations of life in America in a book. She confessed to reading many articles I’d written and inquired about my background. Continuing in our realization that we were destined to meet, she stated that she
worked as a book editor for a publishing company in New York and had taken personal interest in me, or at least my writing style, a few months ago. She invited me to a dinner
function her company organized for freelance writers and up and coming authors. As we exchanged contact information and beauty tips, I felt an intense sense of stardom.

When the week of the dinner arrived, so did my current publisher. In actuality, he acted as my publisher slash friend that I, sometimes, slept with when I was intoxicated. But, to keep rumors at a standstill, I preferred ‘publisher’. As he buzzed up, I looked around my loft apartment, picking up random clothes, trash, food: the essentials to twenty-something living. The invitation for the freelance journalists' event laid on the steel counter in my kitchen. I grabbed it, ran to my bathroom, and placed it in Al Franken’s Lies ( and the lying liars who tell them) because I knew he wouldn’t randomly look in that book. Politics frightened him.

By the time Saturday had arrived, I completely forgot where I placed the invitation. But, still I convinced myself that I should go and just hope that she would remember my face, single me out, and motion me to follow her through the doors. Besides, I had always dreamed of arriving at an important place and being singled out to enter the party, as if I was the sexiest woman in the line.

But, I'm Sunni. Things never quite happen that way.


The first sign of failure, that evening, was the accident that caused me to be twenty minutes late. I hit a bicycle in my complex, breaking the reflector lights and bending a bar. No one was out at the time, so it took me five minutes to prop the bike up against the sidewalk. Knowing that fingerprints were hardly ever done on "accidents" like this, I immediately took off.
When I arrived at the event, I noticed the extensive security posted outside of the building, where the dinner was held. I thought this would be my chance to make my
grand entrance once the book editor was informed that I had arrived. But, I couldn't even convince security that I knew someone so significant. Everyone wanted to be in attendance tonight, he told me. Not having an invitation "proved," in his eyes, that I didn't know anyone or I didn't take opportunities seriously. So, I was turned away at the door.

There were no rocks to kick on my way back to my car. I went over and over, in my mind, how I'd end up in AA meetings remembering the good days when I was almost somebody. Before I got in my car, I licked my thumb and rubbed the bike's blue paint that ended up on my car.
When I arrived home, I went into my bedroom to grab a joint I’d save for moments that I wanted to feel sorry for myself. Before I walked out, I noticed the light on my answering machine blinking. I pushed the button.

“Hi, this message is for Sunni Kali. Sunni, this is Kendal Taylor from Sankofa Publishing House. I apologize for such late notice, but I will not be in attendance tonight and therefore, it probably won’t benefit you much to attend. But if you do, that’s fine as well. However, I still want to establish a personal meeting with you, my boss, and myself. I’m really interested and excited about your ideas for a book. Call me when you get this message, so that I can get you on a plane to New York as soon as possible. Thanks. Have a good night.” I smirked, as that’s what I do when the universe played
jokes on me. I called Kendal the next day and arranged for a two day trip to New York.

Thursday arrived and I was nervous about the flight. So, I ate an entire bag of cherries, which may not have been one of the best ideas I've ever had. Yet, despite feeling cramped and uncomfortable, I actually enjoyed the flight. I, also, enjoyed the extra bags of Chex mix I borrowed from my neighbor, while she was sleep. When I reached the outside of the airport to wave and yell at imaginary friends, or just motion for a taxi, I inhaled the aroma of New York. I was then convinced that New York was as dirty in real life as it appeared to be on televison.

Kendal and Eric were waiting for me at a restaurant they had chosen as a representation of New York. I was not the biggest fan of large, elegant restaurants like this because I would always turn into a paranoid student at an etiquette school, unsure if I was using correct utensils. To me, a fork was a fork was a fork.

The closer I approached towards the table, the wider Kendal’s smile had become. Smiles were contagious. By the time I had arrived at the table, the peanut stuck in a slight gap on the right side of my mouth was visible enough for anyone with a camera.

Before I sat down, Kendal stood up to shake my hand as Eric winked his eye, communicating that he had acknowledged my presence, even though he was on the phone. Busy people talked on the phone a lot, so I didn’t mind the “too busy to meet you right now” gesture made towards my arrival.

“It’s good to see you again, Sunni,” Kendal said. Kendal had the most hypnotizing smile I'd ever seen a human have.

“You, too, Kendal,” I replied, smiling back.

Kendall continued, asking “How was the dinner? I’m sorry I couldn’t make it. Were you able to meet any other up and coming authors?”

“Well, unfortunately, I didn’t make it either. A bike hit my car…and…broke…my light.”

Astounded, Kendal replied “A bike hit your car and broke your light? Wow, that’s weird. Was someone on the
bike when it hit your car? Sounds like it just fell out of mid air and pow! Lights broke!”

We both laughed. I stuck to my story.

“So, how’s your car, now? Did you get that light fixed?”

“Uuh, yeah, a little duck tape and walah!”

“Duck tape? You’re so southern!”

Before I could respond to Kendal’s cheap shot comment, Eric, one of the owners of Sankofa Publishing, interrupted.

“So Ms. Cal lee, I’ve heard good things about you!”

“It’s Kah lee. Ka li.”

“Your name is Sunni Kali? Were your parents hippies?”

“Nope. More like huge fans of weather reports in California.”

Kendall snickered and sipped her wine, while Eric smiled, as if he was in awe of the development of my name. “Great, that’s awesome, Sunni. I’m leaving. I have to get out of here, but I’m sure Kendal will make sure you enjoy yourself while you’re here and inform you on what we want to do with you as an author. Sunni, I’m really excited about your potential and I hope you feel the same about our desire to have you on our team. No one wants you as much as Kendal does. She’s been ranting and raving since you two exchanged information.”

His words brought a smile to my face. No one had ever spoken to me in such a manner before. Throughout his speech, I gave him my undivided attention. However,
there were moments when my eyes would slip away, only to acknowledge Kendal’s piercing glances. It had to be that peanut stuck in my tooth. As Eric rose out of his chair, the glasses, apparently experiencing abandonment issues, tipped over on the table. Somehow, the table cloth was attached to his clothes. Eric patted his clothes, released the table cloth and said his goodbyes.

As he walked away, Kendal leaned in towards me. “Are you thirsty, Sunni?” She stared and waited. “You looked as if you were too shy to ask for something, so I figured I’d ask you.”

“Um sure, do they have Tequila sunrises, here?”

“Maybe. Why don’t you try some of this wine? You’ll like it.”

“I mean, I guess.”

“Something wrong?”

“Well, why would you ask me if I wanted something and then proceed to tell me what to get?”

“My apologies, I guess I’m just used to giving good advice. But, regardless of our clashing tastes in alcohol, I wanted to reiterate what Eric mentioned earlier. I think you will be a great asset to the company. I like your ideas, I think you’re smart minus the duck tape, and kind of cute,” shrugging her shoulders.

My eyebrow raised. On its own, no less. All of a sudden, my palms had moisture and I felt surrounded by heat. I believe I was nervous. She continued, “people like you come a dime a dozen. You’re funny, but I’ve seen better. I’ve read better. I’ve written better. The thing is I think you’re absolutely stunning and in this culture, it’s always a plus when an author is attractive. Does that make sense to you? I’m willing to overlook some writers we already have and cut you a deal right now. But, of course, I would expect something, a favor, in return.”

I enjoyed the wine more than I expected because I was in complete confusion and wasn’t aware that it was my turn to respond. So, I stared for a few minutes, jabbing at the peanut with my tongue. That's when Kendall blurted out, "for an author, you sure don’t speak much. Tell you what I’ll do, here’s the address to my loft. You go to the hotel, get some rest, and freshen up. Come over and we will discuss plans for your future. That’s of course, if you want a future. I will explain the favor and hopefully you will oblige.”

I took the napkin with her address on it. She smiled. I stared at a neutron or dust particle. She left the restaurant with her window tinted shades on. Whenever I felt overwhelmed with confusion, I’d always call my best friend because I always considered her to be a very level-headed person. This was definitely one of those times that I needed a clear, unbiased thought. I called Kameron and reminded her of who Kendal was and continued in explaining my dilemma.

“Guess what? She just told me that in order to get my deal, I’d have to sleep with her.”

“Whaaaaat?" Kameron yelled, continuing "she said that? Are you sure? Sometimes, you confuse situations.”

“Well, not in so many words, but yeah, she said that.”

“Well?”

“What do you mean ‘well’?” Don’t you think that’s a little odd?”

“I mean in cases like these, you have to think, ‘what would Demi do?’”

“Demi? Who the hell is that?”

“Demi Moore. Remember Indecent Proposal? That was a million dollars, girl!”

“ So, you think I should sleep with her?”

“I mean, I don’t see the big deal.”

“You wouldn’t! Kameron, goodbye!”

“Okay, girl, call me and let me know all the details!”



One thing I can say about New York was that it was beautiful at night. In fact, it should become the new Alaska.
I had never been to Alaska to compare both states, but knowing that Alaska has six months of darkness and New York is more appealing at night, I think I may be on to
something. Watching various movies about New York on televison, I couldn’t fathom the logic of traffic here. I was always convinced that no one possessed a car, white people rode in taxis, black people were stationary and likely to be found at the footstep of their brownstones or high- rise neighborhoods, Asians lived in their businesses, and the
eccentrics walked everywhere they had to go. Not too much reason for traffic, right? Wrong!

Speaking of wrong, I found out that I was actually not in New York City but Manhattan. That was what I was told
when some guy accused me of walking in circles and offered directions. I didn’t take his accusations personal, for I was simply acknowledging the beauty of the city. The
names of the city didn't really matter. The guy who offered directions was also kind enough to flag down a taxi and give the address Kendal scribbled on a napkin from the restaurant,
to the driver. He probably thought I couldn’t read.

The taxi operated as a moving holding cell. I don’t know what separated me and my personal chauffer. Bars? Small fences? Barb wire? However, whatever it was, it didn’t roll up or down. I stayed far away to ensure I wouldn’t be electrocuted had I decided to whisper sweet, inaccurate directions in his ear. The backseat brought back memories of sweaty palms and uncontainable heat that I always imagined escaping the top of my hair. I didn’t know if the windows worked and I decided against asking. There were barriers everywhere: windows, seat separators, language. What did snap me out of my claustrophobic tailspin was a consistent pinching of my thigh, actually between the ending of my thigh and the beginning of my ass. It was a fork. Not only did questions rise as to why or how a fork ended up in the backseat of a taxi, but how did I manage to miss it when I sat down? This box, this taxi was hot, carried an odor consistent with spices, and only had one radio station.

We finally arrived at Kendal’s place. There were lights everywhere. The building, itself, touched the clouds. At the entrance of the skyrise, stood a man with a funny hat. The
southern in me assumed that he was a member of a marching band waiting for his taxi.

“Good evening and welcome,” he said. I was wrong again. At the front desk, I buzzed up for Kendal. She responded, telling me to come up. Even with seven people inside, the ride in the elevator was quiet. The elevator could not reach Kendall’s floor fast enough. I never realized how nervous I’d feel being surrounded by middle-aged white women. I looked straight ahead at the door as it opened and closed, hoping that each stop we approached was mine. Kendal stayed on the 14th floor. When the elevator door opened, she greeted me with a huge smile, all pearls.

“Sunni! Im so glad you made it. You didn’t even have to call to confirm the directions. I knew I liked you for some reason. Come on, follow me.” She winked her eye as she directed me to the dining area. Kendal’s apartment was
immaculate. When I entered the dining area, the very first thing I noticed was the color of her walls. They bared a fierce, fire engine version of the color red. Placed side by side, mimicking the formation of a train, were mirrors. Shaped in 6 x 9 rectangles and raised off the walls, the mirrors traveled the entire room. Some, bedazzled with writings and
black-light.

There was a large picture, centered on the wall behind a deep-seated black chair, which also was the largest piece of furniture in the dining area. Tracing the illicit and exagerrated colors with my eyes, I could make out that it was a picture of Kendal. In the picture, she was draped in a loose fitting white dress shirt, a tie that seemed to fly wherever the wind blew, and a tilted brim-styled Black hat which she carefully held the tip of, in hopes it would not fly off her head, I assumed.

It was a nice picture, but, I couldn't help wondering if she brought potential business associates she took seriously to this area of her apartment. The rest of the room was decorated in Black furniture. There was a piece of furniture shaped in a lower case “L” without back support. I scanned the room for an upright chair. I decided to stand.
She entered the room.

“Hey, you want anything to drink?"

“Uh, yeah sure, what do you have?"

“I have that Tequila sunrise you wanted from before.”

“Alright, I’ll take it.”

Our eyes met and she nodded. As she went back towards the kitchen to fix my drink, she asked “would you like a few ice cubes in it?”

“Sure. Ice, no pills, please,” I mumbled as I continued scoping out the apartment for secret doors.

“ What?” she yelled back.

“Oh, uh I was saying these were nice pics on the mantle.”

“Oh yeah, thanks. Here you go,” she handed me the drink as she walked back into the dining area. “I put a little more juice in it. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to taste the tequila or not.”

“This is good.”

“So, as I was mentioning before, I think you have a lot of potential. I can work with you, personally, in order to improve certain areas that you lack in. I really want to take
you on as my little protégé, show you the ropes, and help market you. I don’t usually develop authors, but, I can really see a future with you.”

As she continued to talk, I smiled, as if I was pleased and gracious for her kind words. My thoughts, however, were in absolute incongruence with my smiles. I could not believe how aggressive Kendal was to even admit that she could see a future with me without even asking me if I was attracted to her. I panicked. I started to think maybe she would attempt to take me hostage and force me to be attracted to her.

“Man! Oh my God! I forgot I had something in the oven. Do you mind holding this for a minute?" She passed me her drink as she hurried back into the kitchen. "I apologize for being an
absent hostess, it’s just that I have others coming over and, well, you know.”

“Oh, no, go ahead. I’m okay, ” I responded trying my best to continue hiding my anxiety as I considered the thought of others. I didn’t know what I had gotten myself into. But, I needed to get out of it quick.

“You want another drink?”

“Uh..” Before I could finish, she came back into the room, as if she was gliding on air.

“Here, I see you finished that fast.” She smiled and stared at me. I knew this would be the time to do something, if I was going to do anything. As she poured the tequila and began talking, my anxiety took over my ability to hear what she was saying. All I could think of was how I needed do something about her trying to seduce me before we went too far.

“I don’t want to sleep with you!” I blurted.

She pulled back and looked at me.

“I don’t want to sleep with you. I don’t have anything against lesbians, but I’m not one, you know? I don’t think its fair that in order for me to get a book deal, I’d have to sleep with you. I mean, this isn’t Indecent Proposal, you know? This is real life. And I’m a real straight person. So, yeah, I’m not a lesbian and that’s all I have to say.” I felt better in that moment.

Her smile became larger and larger. She laughed. She laughed at me. It wasn’t funny. I was a nervous wreck and she was laughing. She grabbed my drink, turned her back towards me, and placed our glasses down. She exhaled and sat down, facing me.

“Well, you’re not a lesbian, huh? Neither am I. But I’m glad to know that you don’t hold anything against them because my mother is one. Had you said anything
derogative towards lesbians, I just might have killed you.”

I nodded.

“Listen, if for some reason, I’ve made you uncomfortable, I apologize. My mother raised my brother and I to be very affectionate people. So, I have no problem letting another
woman know she is attractive. It doesn’t mean I want you.”

I nodded again.

“Was there something I did specifically to convince you that I wanted to sleep with you?”

“Well, yeah. You said at the restaurant that you’d be willing to give me a deal, if I returned a favor. I felt that was cause for concern.” This time I caught her in her own lie and wondered how she'd get out of this one.

“Oh yes, you’re right. I did say that. Look, I was eventually going to prep you up for a deal, but I figured if you could do me a favor, I could get a sooner release date in return. It’s the least I could do. But the favor was not for you to sleep with me. I have a brother. He’s handsome, he has a good job, he has a really nice home, but he can’t meet nice women because he says women don’t like nice guys. Watching you, I’ve noticed that you and he, both, have that ‘nervous breakdown’ thing going on, you know? How your reactions are over the top? I thought he was the only person like that, until I met you, of course. Brainstorming, I assumed it would be a great match. I should’ve mentioned him earlier.”

I was completely embarrassed. Before I could even open my mouth, she spoke. “Look, I get the feeling that you’re a little embarrassed." Kendal reached towards me and grabbed my hand. Her eyes were so soothing and comforting. "Don’t worry about it. I told you I have a brother like you, so I’m used to the tourette’s syndrome-like outbursts. My brother was on his way over, so he could meet you, but if you’re not up to it then, maybe, some other time. Don’t worry about the favor, I like you. You make me laugh. I’m going to get you started so that we can get a release date scheduled, okay?"

I nodded, like a child scolded.

“I’m really sorry for accusing you of wanting me. This is really embarassing.” She smiled. “No, don’t worry about it. I’ll admit if I was a lesbian, you’d be my type.”

“Oh, so you have nervous breakdowns, too?” I asked, searching for some type of comraderie.“No, but your breakdowns can act as my comic relief,” she responded, dilently assuring me that we would still be friends. We both laughed. “Listen, go back to Atlanta, get you some more rest, learn to relax and I’ll have the papers ready for you to sign next week. How does that sound?”

“I’m sold.”

“Good.”

I met up with Kendal the following Monday, signed the contract and got my deal. To celebrate, I invited my best friend, Kameron out with me. We ended up going to a low-
key restaurant, where they served sushi rolls for a dollar.

“You should’ve slept with her.”

“Kameron, please. Neither one of us are lesbians.”

“So? You don’t have to be a lesbian to sleep with a woman.”

“I’m not even going to entertain that thought.”

“Do you think half of the girls that go on spring break trips are lesbians?”

“Do you?” I sighed

“Honey, vodka doesn’t care what you identify with in the dark!”

She nodded, wide-eyed and self assured.

“One day, Kameron, you’re not going to ever be able to get in contact with me. Hopefully you will just consider me dead and go on with your life.”

“Not before you pay me back for Luke cd you broke.”

“Right, of course.”

As we continued eating and engaging in meaningless discourse, my phone vibrated. It was my boyfriend/editor. We hadn’t talked in a few weeks. I guess that kind of confused the “boyfriend” idea. It’s complicated. I decided not to answer.