He let that word hang. Range, like he was drawing a line on the floor between her world and his. A young white woman walked past them and reached for a jacket on the same rack. Derek didn't blink, didn't ask for a card, didn't say a word to her.
He even smiled, a warm, welcoming smile that Beverly had never seen directed at her. Not once since she walked in. Beverly noticed. She didn't say anything, but she noticed.
Tanya Moore saw it, too. She was standing behind the register, pretending to count receipts. Her jaw was tight. Her hands were still.
She wanted to say something. She almost did. But Derek was her boss and she had a daughter to feed. So Tanya looked down and Beverly was alone.
Tier two, stripping dignity.
Beverly didn't leave. She walked around Derek and headed straight for the dress. This time she didn't just look. She lifted it off the rack, held it up against the light.
The silk caught the afternoon sun coming through the window. It was perfect.
This is the one, she whispered to herself. Derek was on her in seconds. I said, "Don't touch that." He grabbed the hanger. Not the dress, the hanger.
And yanked it out of Beverly's hands so hard she stumbled forward. "What are you doing?" Beverly's voice cracked. Not from weakness, from shock. What am I doing?
Derek held the dress up and made a show of inspecting it, turning it over, checking the fabric like Beverly had contaminated it. I'm checking for damage. You know how much this costs? I know exactly how much it costs.
Do you? Because you don't look like someone who does. He held the dress to his nose and sniffed it right in front of her. Great.
Now it smells like whatever thrift store lotion you bathed in this morning. He turned to the two women near the shoe section and shook his head like he was sharing a private joke with them. Like Beverly was the punchline. Two women standing near the shoe section turned around.
They saw everything. One of them looked uncomfortable.
The other pulled out her phone, not to call anyone, just to have something to look at. Neither of them said a word. Beverly's hands were shaking now, but her back was straight. Her chin was up.
41 years of teaching children taught her one thing. Never let anyone see you break. I want to speak to someone above you, she said. Derek tilted his head.
You're looking at him. I'm the highest authority in this building. He said it like a king. He had no idea how wrong he was.
Tier three, the slap.
Beverly did something Derek didn't expect. She pulled out her wallet. She opened it slowly. Inside were six crisp $100 bills.
She had been saving them for 4 months, skipping lunches, cutting her own hair, putting away $30 here, 50 there. Every single bill earned. Every single bill clean. She placed the wallet on the counter.
Ring it up. Derek stared at the money. Something about it made him angrier because it didn't fit. It didn't match the picture he had already drawn of her in his mind.
A poor old Black woman isn't supposed to pull out $600 in cash. That's not how the story goes in Derek's head. So, he did what small men do when reality threatens their ego. He got louder.
"Where did you get that?" He pointed at the wallet. "You steal that, too?" "Too?" Beverly's voice was barely a whisper now. "I haven't stolen anything."
"Sure you haven't." Derek grabbed the wallet off the counter and held it up. "Greg, get over here. We might need to check this lady's bag." Greg Sullivan, the security guard, walked over slowly. He was a big man, shaved head, soft eyes.
He looked at Beverly, then at Derek. Something about this didn't feel right to him. Sir, she hasn't. Did I ask you for a report? Derek cut him off. Just stand there and look useful.
Greg went quiet. He stood next to Beverly, close enough to help, too scared to try.
Beverly reached for her wallet. Give that back. That's my money. Your money.