It was a hot afternoon in mid-August, when I heard the buzzer to my shop ring. I tended to keep the door locked. There was no need for anyone to just walk on in without announcing themself first- Black Star was not that type of establishment.
I looked up from my bookkeeping ledger and saw an unusual sight for a weekday in Crown Heights- an elegantly dressed, older white man waiting for me to allow him entry. I buzzed him in and took a long, hard look as he walked up to the counter. An even six feet in height and slightly stocky in build. Crisp, white button-down tucked into khaki trousers. Fine-grained cognac leather loafers. Aviator sunglasses, mirrored lenses hiding his eyes. He didn’t even have to open his mouth for me to peg him as someone from a Spanish speaking country.
The man greeted me with a simple “Hello.”
“How can I help you?” I asked.
“My name is Rafael Montilla,” the man replied.
He was definitely Spanish. From somewhere in Central America, if I wasn’t mistaken.
“I’m scheduled to meet Mrs. Alleyne in a few minutes. I’m considering buying the building.”
I made sure not to let my surprise register. No need to panic before I got the lay of the land.
“She should be here any minute,” I told him. “Mrs. Alleyne is never late.”
“Well, would it trouble you greatly to show me around this space?” he asked. “I’d like to take a look at the back area and get your thoughts on how you find everything.”
“Con mucho gusto, señor,” I replied. “Permítame un momento para volver a cerrar.”
Rafael Montilla didn’t bother to hide either his surprise or his delight.
“You speak Spanish?” he asked- in English.
“Sí,” I replied. “Soy Cubano.”
“I figured you were Jamaican,” Rafael Montilla said. “Your accent. The neighborhood,” he continued, gesturing towards the world outside my shop.
“It’s my secret weapon,” I replied, flatly. “No one here knows about Cuban Jamaicans.”
“Coño!” he exclaimed.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
Señor Montilla extended his right hand and asked me my name.
“Hopeton Silva,” I said and shook his hand.
“Un placer conocerlo, Hopeton,” he replied. “Please call me Bolo.”
At that moment, Mrs. Alleyne rang the buzzer.
Before I went to unlock the door, Bolo asked me if it would be okay for him to stop by tomorrow afternoon, “to continue our conversation.”
