“Spike Lee is having a signing at the Brooklyn Museum on Saturday if you want to go.”

(Tbh, Louis could have asked me to go to Mars at this point, and I’d ask what time.)

So bright and early, we popped up from the Eastern Pkwy station into an entirely empty museum lobby.

OF COURSE only members were allowed before 11. Us plebes were ushered outside where Louis did the mental math. “I’m thinking. Wondering if we should join.”

I reached for my phone. $64 for a dual membership. Joy Barnett & Louis Mendes could swing that.

So with two hours until the signing, we talked. As fans & families gathered, we watched. And through it all, we sat comfortably after Louis pulled the elderly card like he doesn’t put in miles across NYC every day. And when the museum shop opened, we rose to our rightful place at the very front of the line.

Around 11:45, a famous face poked out from a black velvet curtain, scanned the crowd, and did a double-take in our general direction.

That’s when Spike Lee marched over, shook Louis’s hand and picked up the stanchion himself to usher us in.

The two of them fell in so fast it almost felt scripted. Spike posed, Louis clicked. Spike handed Louis a bill, shook his hand again and thanked him. Then Louis went off-script.

“I wondered if I could get a picture of you and Joy.”

“Come on, baby.”

I scurried over like a rat to a charcuterie board. It’s almost literally written all over my face.

As Louis tucked the photo into his usual cardboard frame, Spike slid it across the table, and wrote without a word: “Love, Spike Lee.”

He began his goodbyes when I awkwardly chimed in to ask if he’d sign our books too.

The relief when he took it as a timely reminder vs. clumsy begging.

“Oh, tell all them people to open their books to THIS page,” Spike pointed a pink spread out to his manager. “I’m only signing THIS page.”

I flipped like my life depended on it, taking the opportunity to thank him for his work. He received my words graciously and signed both books before Louis & I started to slip away.

“Oh…” he called to his manager once more.

“And tell them NO PICTURES either. This is a BOOK SIGNING.”

[Ed. Note: This post is part of a one-time February 2024 mini-series that took me to NYC where I was treated to an abundance of Blackstories first-hand. In place of my usual February content, I chose to share my own real-time (-ish) lived experience to honor the vibrant people New York put in my path.]