# Chapter 1 - Meet Jimi

**Published by:** [ptkidman](https://paragraph.com/@ptkidman/)
**Published on:** 2022-03-07
**URL:** https://paragraph.com/@ptkidman/chapter-1-meet-jimi

## Content

Jimi never met a piece of silk with which he didn't fall in love. Though he adored silk, his favorite, he cherished fine wool, mercerized cotton, synthetic blends, and anything with lace. Unlike most men, who wouldn't step within two feet of lace, Jimi embraced the frizzy, shiny, and feminine quality his lace shirts exuded. The dazzle didn't bother Jimi. He would have asked his mama for Pampers with lace if he had been able to talk. Yewande Hussein worried about her son, Jimi, on the first occasion during his fifth year when he refused to don a pair of jeans. He pouted and cried the moment he laid eyes on the blue denim as though she had put a fork full of broccoli in front of his mouth. Something about jeans turned Jimi’s eyes into rain clouds. First, he cried himself dry to avoid wearing jeans. If that didn't work, Jimi sat on the edge of the bed with his arms folded and lips pursed, refusing to budge. Then, when he really felt his oats, he closed his eyes and acted statuesquely. Unless Yewande dressed him in non-denim, he clowned. At first, she wondered what she'd done wrong. Maybe she was a bad mother. Was God punishing her for some maternal defect? Friends told Yewande that Jimi was different from the other boys. Any boy who cried under such circumstances must be unique, they insisted. Nevertheless, Yewande stood by Jimi through the sideways glances, gossip, and second-guessing. She believed every child deserved the right to pursue their passions. Only one thing explained Jimi’s behavior: he arrived in the world passionate about clothes and everything related to making them. When she accepted that truth, mothering became much more bearable. Buying, making, and designing clothes led Jimi into the retail business. By age 30, Jimi had worked in dozens of small clothing shops and the men's departments in big box stores like Macy's, Bloomingdales, and Neiman Marcus. He lived and breathed fabrics, which showed in his personal style and career moves. If clothes make the man, Jimi epitomized a made man. Eventually, Jimi realized clothes don't make a man. Falojimi Hussein, called Jimi by his friends and family, dreamed of owning an upscale shop in the Dallas Galleria. He imagined his shop located right outside Macy's, an anchor store. Securing that specific location on the mall's grid guaranteed his shop to command visibility and foot traffic headed in and out of Macy's. He knew better than to settle for a corner spot or one drowned out by the food court. Any such move amounted to retail suicide because he'd never achieve his desired optics. If push came to shove, he might settle for a second-floor space next to Macy's. But, a ground floor placement sealed his fate to success. Persistence was Jimi's middle name. The last time Jimi met with Dallas Galleria management, they insisted he improve his finances. The lease required bank statements showing six months of liquidity. He wondered if management created rigid criteria just because he was Black and a foreigner. Did they scrutinize White boys the same way? "Mr. Jimi, we’re eager to offer you a lease here at the Galleria. The mall needs more diversity amongst its tenants, and you'd be a great addition to our line-up. We can give you a space in the middle of the mall right now," said the Galleria real estate manager, Elan Andreessen. "But Mr. Andreessen, you know I want placement by Macy's," Jimi pleaded. "Can't you work out a deal for me? I'll work day and night to get that lease!" "Mr. Jimi, the mall is not open day and night. You know that. The mall schedule has set hours. We don't make exceptions. This isn't an Oak Cliff mall." Before finishing that sentence, Andreessen knew he had slipped up. Dallas Galleria management discouraged any language suggesting discrimination. They recently came under fire for lack of diversity. Had Jimi been wearing a mic, Andreessen would be caught. Such an off-handed remark amounted to a racial slur. That was crystal clear to Jimi. Oak Cliff was the "urban" section of Dallas where people of color lived. Andreessen was calling out second-class malls in the area. The "Black" malls, like others similarly-situated around the country, suffered from decline and, as a symbol of that decline, filled much of their rental space with mom-and-pop shops and off-brand cell phone vendors. Most middle-class people of color no longer shopped in those malls. "What do you mean by that, Elan?" Jimi said. He pushed back and was one step from being indignant. Switching to Andreessen's first name signaled two things: familiarity and Jimi's lack of tolerance for slights or microaggressions. The mere suggestion Jimi's shop would be less dignified than any other mall tenant demanded prompt action. "I'm sorry, Jimi. You know I'm not a racist," Andreessen retorted. "We treat all of our clients in the Galleria with respect and dignity, Mr. Jimi. So forgive me for saying that, please." How many times had Jimi heard White folks declare, "I'm not racist!"? More than he could count on two hands and two feet. That worn-out trope shouted, “racist in the midst!” or “privileged person ahead!” Jimi put the remark in his back pocket with the uncountable slights and micro-aggressions he'd experienced since he arrived in America. He'd long since learned it was best to let such remarks roll off his back like water on a duck. Holding on to such pain caused self-inflicted trauma, which would weigh him down like a disability. Like many people of color, Jimi believed White people would one day shed their biased ways and accept Black and Brown people as equals. But, unfortunately, the retail industry had few Black- or Brown-owned firms. That left few role models for leadership or creating industry standards representing that market segment. Some companies recruited a Black or Brown executive for their lower C-suite positions. But you rarely saw Black or Brown people sitting upfront at signature events, such as the annual Magic Show in Las Vegas. Nor were there Black, Indigenous people, or people of color (BIPOC) general managers in the Galleria’s anchor stores. The industry had serious work to do before claiming equal employment. Following George Floyd's killing in Minneapolis, Black and Brown people were restless. They were fed up with the slow progress on civil rights. Sitting around talking to Andreessen, Jimi realized a lot of work remained. Life as a Black person meant constantly carrying a shade shield. "I forgive you, sir, but I'd appreciate you being more sensitive and respectful in the future. I treat you fairly and expect the same from you," Jimi said. He believed in standing his ground when facing explicit racism. Just because Mr. Andreessen held the key to the door of his future boutique didn't mean Jimi had to bow down to him. Jimi refused to be a "yes man." Jimi pictured himself opening a first-class men's store at the Galleria. He wanted nothing less than a Fifth Avenue-style men's clothing Mecca, which attracted sophisticated buyers. Moreover, the store would strike a massive contrast from his Big T Bazaar shop. Though the Cedar Springs store catered to a niche clientèle, Jimi conceived it as a stepping stone to his ultimate identity: a clothier. His Big T Bazaar store, called "Jimmy's," sold clothes to hip-hoppers and shoppers who enjoyed sporting causal, budget-priced clothing or "urban" wear. The Cedar Springs store sold forward-leaning apparel, which appealed to gay men, primarily. The merchandise was upscale and struck a note of flair and haute couture. Everyone knew Big T as the spot for ballers and the twerk set. The building's façade was vintage 1970s with its arcade-like floor plan. Walking inside felt like stepping back in time. It was part mall and part flea market. Middle-class folks in Dallas considered Big T a hidden treasure. From an aesthetics perspective, the uninitiated would immediately realize they were treading in a Black flea market that used to be something else. Before the current epoch, that part of Ledbetter Road surrounding New Birth Baptist Church and right off Interstate 35E featured a middle-class Black neighborhood. Suppose you timed your visit to Big T just right. In that case, you'd see the homies cruising around the place, low-riding, blasting music, smoking weed, and enjoying themselves. If you timed it poorly, you might run up on gang bangers, fools driving by waving guns, or in the worst-case scenario, live gunfire gone astray. No matter how much Jimi loved it, that scene wasn't a good look for his business resume. In fact, he might improve his odds by not listing Jimmy's on his Galleria application, but he needed to show his experience. He considered closing Jimmy's and opening up a new store in a sturdier locale catering to a higher-income clientèle. So far, that, too, remained a lightweight pipe dream. Jimi loved hanging out in the hood. Being in the hood space made him feel legit and down. Privately, Jimi liked the young ladies who strolled through Big T. Something about the 20-something crew captured Jimi's fancy. But he should have known better. Had he known the seven-year rule, there was no guarantee he would have followed it. However, a wise man knew to keep his relations within the confines of the seven-year rule, which was an unspoken convention designed to prevent people from pursuing romantic interests who were their children or grandchildren's ages. According to the rule, you determine your youngest dating prospect by a simple math formula: divide your current age by two; add seven. So at 42, Jimi shouldn't even look at a woman 28-years-old or younger. His boys tried to talk Jimi down from that ledge, but he insisted on going to the edge, peering into the abyss, and sometimes, dipping his toe in. "Jeemi, Jeemi," his boy David would say to him, "You gots to leave the young women alone. You're too old for that crew." He knew David was right. He was Jimi's close friend who loved wearing expensive cologne. You smelled David coming before he was in your face, and you kept smelling him long after he left. But, Jimi couldn't resist the 20-something booty, or "bootay," as he called it. Besides, Jimi was married to Ayoola, a woman his age. Andreessen knew Jimi's retail history and doubted his ability to rise to the Galleria level. He reviewed Jimi's finances because the documentation was a part of his Galleria application. The truth was Jimi needed to raise more money to qualify for a space in the Galleria. But he could only accomplish that with help. Jimi's best course of action was to find a partner with a solid credit line. A partnership would open wide the Galleria's doors. But, even with a solid partner, he needed luck to secure his dream space. Jimi visited Andreessen's office often as though his visits substituted for working capital. In reality, he hoped his frequent check-ins might show how earnest and determined he was to lease the coveted space. If Websters Dictionary had a picture alongside the word determination, it would be Jimi's face. Resolved not to appear desperate, Jimi kept showing up, but did his best not to look thirsty. Sitting across from Andreessen, Jimi mentally devised a plan. He’d find a well-monied business partner, and he'd get the Hell up out of Big T. This encounter with Andreessen finally brought him around to his senses. He wouldn't show up in Andreessen's office again until he was ready to sign on the dotted line of a Dallas Galleria lease. "I just figured out my next steps, Mr. Andreessen. Don't worry. I'll be back ready to make this thing happen. Time for me to bounce. I'll catch you later, my brudda." Jimi sprang up, smiled, and extended his hand to Andreessen, who wore more rings than average and cuff-links on his poplin shirt. Though he thought the rings added to his flair, they gave him an old-style look he badly needed to shed. A quick pump of the hands and Jimi bee-lined out the door.

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