Page 29 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part One

He sounds…tender.

Aaaaand that’s where I leave.

“I’ll let you handle all that,” I say in a rush, keeping my voice low. Then I spin around and sprint toward the exit, not waiting to see if he even registers my words.

Or if he even cares I’m running.

6

SHAE

“Do you really think I can do this?”

Mari’s voice sounds awe-filled as we look at the screen together, and I move aside one of the yellow legal pads marked up with various scenarios to get her organic beauty brand out of her kitchen and into stores.

“I don’tthinkso, Mari. I know.” Pointing at the Excel sheet, I tap different numbers for seed capital into the calculator I made with the mPOWER counseling volunteers.

“With $5,000 start-up capital, this has you breaking even in five years, but with $15,000, we can get you there in three,” I say. We’re the only people in the converted conference room. The makeshift technology lab has five Dell computers donated by a local paper manufacturer. While they aren’t fast, nor are they state-of-the-art, they have Microsoft and QuickBooks installed for the clients to use.

“With the grant from Germain Cosmetics and the money from the pitch competition, you can so do this.”

Mari chews on her bottom lip, contemplating the figures on screen with a serious look.

“Yeah,” she says. Doubt laces the word.

“What’s going on, girl?” I ask, leaning back in the old computer chair. The rusty joints squeak beneath my weight.

Mari blows out a breath.

“It’s just that…$5,000 is a helluva lot of money. It’ll take me a year to save up that much working at the hair salon with booth rent and my kids. And $15,000? How the hell am I supposed to come up with that much?”

I grin, tapping my notepad.

“What makes you thinkyouwill be bankrolling the startup? Other people are going to give you money to do this. Your investment is your IP and your sweat equity.”

She flips her hair over her shoulder.

“And why would some stuffy corporate type want to givemethousands of dollars? I didn’t even graduate from high school.” She starts to withdraw, pushing away from the desk and spinning in her chair toward her purse.

“Why would they? Whywouldn’tthey? Why wouldn’t they invest in a woman who has overcome extraordinary odds, who is entrepreneurial and already running her own business, and who has created an excellent, proven product in one of the fastest segments of the beauty industry? Let’s take the emotion out of it. By the numbers, it only makes sense.”

Mari looks down at the floor for a long moment, but when she faces me again, a smile brightens her expression.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she says. “Now to actually get the funding.”

I shrug. “For you? Easy.”

We go over her financials a bit more, and I read through an RFP she’s prepared for a boutique hair salon in Oregon looking to stock Black-owned haircare products specifically formulated for Black hair. By the time we end the session, it’s late, and my stomach rumbles. I haven’t eaten since lunch, and it’s now well after seven p.m.

This late at night, there aren’t that many people in the building. Located in South Loop, the mPOWER office sits between a doughnut shop and a dry cleaner near the Roosevelt station. It’s never quiet around here, but when I lock the front door after Mari’s exit, there’s a special type of stillness that comes after the energy of the after-work mentor sessions.

Mari is one of about thirty clients in the Women’s Business Builder cohort. Twice a week in the evenings, business leaders, accountants, and lawyers donate their time to the organization and mentor women as they create and launch their businesses.

And in the two years I’ve volunteered with mPOWER, I’ve seen many women make their dreams come true. I know Mari will get there, too.

In the staff break room, I text Yennifer to come grab me on her way home from her evening class and set my phone face down on the oversized Formica-covered island in the center of the breakroom. With an hour until she’ll arrive, I pull my textbook and laptop out of my bag and settle in on the short-backed barstool to kill the time.

I take a big bite out of a Clif bar when DeAndria, the program director, bounces into the space.

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