I asked you over for a dinner party. Gwendolyn and Margaret are here too, but I’m shootin the shit with you in the corner. What’s it like, dying young? Having your husband sit shiva for you? You spent a good part of your life between the legs of other women. Me too. Ms. Hansberry —what happens to black girls like us? Do we crust and sugar over our heavy loads? I’m asking you, Lorraine. Tell me about the other side. Do black girls get free? It must be nice over there. Like Chicago with her broken nose, not easy to love but necessary. In the purgatory rooms, are black girls sipping Moscato? I hope so. Tell me what you want, Lorraine. I’ll bring the blacks and a bottle of Henny. Just tell me if we’re free.