16

MADAME MARKFORD responds to her in a hissing voice full of venomous loathing.

                   MADAME MARKFORD
       I am the owner.  And I don't serve 
       niggresses—especially ones with 
       uppity attitudes.  
 
                       DOROTHY
                (perplexed)
       Knee-grasses?  Knee-grasses?  I do 
       not understand this word…knee-grasses?  
       I wish to buy hats.  Many, many hats.

MADAME MARKFORD stares at her a moment in cross bewilderment.  Then she assesses DOROTHY from head to foot; noting her flawlessly tailored military coat, and the elegant suede gloves covering her hands which match her suede low heel boots. 

Next, MADAME MARKFORD considers DOROTHY’s beautiful face and the intelligence glimmering in her luminous eyes.  If this were a White woman standing before her, she would spell money and class.

                   MADAME MARKFORD
                (mystified)
       Who are you?
 
                       DOROTHY
                (proudly)
       I am Faiza…sister to Farouk, by the 
       grace of God, King of Egypt and  
       Sudan, and Sovereign of Nubia.

MADAME MARKFORD blinks and her mouth drops open.  She is thunderstruck by the revelation.

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