Electric Impulse

chapter 29 | pretty penny

Riz was right, once we arrive at the Miami Design District, I get it. It has a different feel to it. It's like shopping in a modern art museum. The combination of lush green palm trees, unconventional architecture, exquisite art, haute couture fashion and fine food fuel me, propelling me into a whole new stratosphere. I'm energized just being in this space. Sculptures loom over us as we walk past. The murals on the buildings are incredible. The stories they tell, their scale and the amount of detail in the paintings are enough to warrant me to spend the whole afternoon here, just marveling at it all.

I'm giddy with excitement as we walk past the Dior and Christian Louboutin stores, which is strange for me. I guess I never got excited before because I couldn't afford to entertain the thought. I've never owned name brand clothes that weren't handed down or bought at a thrift store and the thought that on this shopping spree, I very well may own a few new items, floods my brain with dopamine. It's a high I've never known. Thrift shops have been my haven since I can remember. Mama taught me how to stretch a dollar and college forced me to put that lesson into practice. But I've graduated, there are new life lessons to learn now.

We arrive at an extravagant boutique called Caviar.

How posh!

Phoenix opens the door for me. I step over the threshold and behold the beauty of all that is before me. Room after room, and rack after rack of dresses, blouses, pants, jewelry, and yes, shoes, that leave me salivating.

"I've never been to a store like this before." My eyes undoubtedly betray my sheer delight and bewilderment as the possibilities run through my mind.

I accept your invitation, Phoenix. I suppose I can let myself have a few nice things . . . .

For the first time in forever, I don't scorn myself. I don't pull back. I don't look for an excuse on why I shouldn't, couldn't or can't. I let the excitement slowly churn in my chest, building momentum with each turn. By the time a sales associate greets us, I'm brimming with enthusiasm. It tickles the surface, threatening to spill out, but I manage to keep it contained.

I hear the voice before I see who's talking. In a haughty, condescending tone, someone says, "Excuse me. Are you — er . . . in the right place?" The associate looks over the rim of her trendy red glasses and in a split second, with one sweeping glance, determines we don't belong here.

I straighten my posture. "This is Caviar, right? The clothing boutique? So, yes, I think we're in the right place." I look around the store, silently seething.

Her pale cheeks turn a bright red. "Umm —" Flustered, she straightens out her white blouse. "— in that case, welcome to Caviar." She clears her throat and lengthens her neck as if readying herself for a performance. "Our lavish boutique boasts haute couture and fresh-off-the-runway fashion. Let me give you a tour. I'll be happy to help you."

Mia reaches towards a glass case displaying a women's pave diamond Cartier bracelet. Immediately the associate rushes to the display before Mia can touch the glass. She hovers protectively. Through phony laughter, she tells Mia, "Oh! That'll cost you a pretty penny! We have more wallet-friendly options over here." She attempts to lead Mia away.