Nonstop and enthusiastically Mimi spit out all this information in a quick breath, wanting to share her good news with her clique. Everybody knew that Kev had strong feelings when it came to Mimi. For her, he was more than a MAC machine and Mimi was more than a piece of pussy to him. Mimi crossed the line though, mixing business with pleasure. She had fallen in love and Netta didn’t like it.
Netta frowned, all puzzled, and interrupted, “Mimi, I know you ain’t fallin’ for the 52 fake-out. That’s game, if I ever heard it. Some old jailhouse rap. Tell that nigga to go find somebody else to bid off of,” Netta said, busting Mimi’s make pretend jailhouse romance.
She was only trying to look out for her friend’s best interest by exposing game. Unfortunately, Mimi didn’t see it that way.
“That nigga’s baby momma probably shitted on him and now he’s trying to get your ass down to city jail to visit him. After that, I bet my last motherfuckin’ dollar he’ll try to get you to bring him some packages of dope in,” Netta continued. She wasn’t half done on the reasons why Mimi shouldn’t waste her time. “Every last one of them niggas in jail want somebody to hold ‘em and bit with ‘em. Who got time for that shit when you free? I don’t got no case, I don’t want no co-defendants. I ain’t biddin’ wit’ nobody,” Netta said firmly.
Sucking her teeth loudly, Mimi exploded.
“Netta, you always got something to say. You not always right! Your problem is you don’t love nothing or nobody but yourself,” Mimi said heated. But, in her heart she knew that wasn’t true. After all they had been through, she knew Netta loved her as she loved Netta. She was upset though. So, she tried to hurt Netta’s feelings. She felt a surge of anger rising inside of her.
“Kev was always good to me and now that he’s down, I gotta keep it real with him. I can’t turn my back on him. I’m not YOU!” Mimi hollered back.
And with that, the entire room became still. No one said a word. Silence fell like the quiet before the storm. Netta stood there face-to-face with Mimi. This was when true friendship played its part. It was always hard for Netta. She expected everybody in the Pussy Pound to be as cold-blooded as she was. She couldn’t see why they wouldn’t or couldn’t be at ties. This was a man’s world. A woman had to be extra tough to survive and be on top of her game.
“Bitch, please. You damn right, you ain’t me. I would’ve left that motherfucker before the trial. Wouldn’t have been no rap about it. He would’ve been history the minute he got knocked. Hustlers come a dime a dozen. When one goes to jail, another will step up to take his place. That’s the game,” Netta said. There was no joy in her voice and no smile on her face. She was just spitting the facts, as she knew them, to be the truth.
“Let me ask you something,” Netta continued. “If you got knocked, do you really think Kevin would be kicking down the visiting room door to get at you?”
Not waiting for Mimi’s response and already knowing that there wasn’t one, she responded for her.
“Hell no, he wouldn’t be! See I did Black and the whole nine, but I ain’t got time for nobody in jail. What can he do for me, Mimi?” Netta asked, rhetorically. “I’m not going up in those mountains, dealing with them crazy ass cracker C.O.’s to see nobody. I got to do me. I’m true to fun and not to one,” Netta said, absolutely feeling herself.
Bitch, I guess you can’t go see Black. But it ain’t cause you don’t want to, it’s ‘cause you can’t, Mimi thought, standing there vexed. But she didn’t say anything. It wasn’t her business, and everything wasn’t for everybody.
Expressionless, she stared at Netta as if she could see right through her. She knew her better than anybody in this room or alive. They were like sisters. So, why did Netta always have to try and shine on her?
Misinterpreting the love for hate, Mimi felt betrayed by Netta. She didn’t see where Netta was coming from with this. Instead of letting her feelings get involved, she only thought about what Netta was saying, when everything could have been all right. It wasn’t what Netta said, it was how she said it and in front of whom.
“So, see Mimi, it’s not a question of who or what I love. Love don’t pay the rent. Pussy does,” Netta added. “I don’t love no man, not even my own father. The only men that make me happy are dead ones, dead presidents. If I were you, I’d forget Kev and concentrate on taking that lil’ New York nigga, Mann, that you met today. That’s who you need to be focusin’ on. I’m gonna work his cousin, Tone. I know they got some paper. They ain’t down here all the way from New York for their health,” Netta said, lookin’ at her friend like she was stupid.
Absorbing every word in this verbal exchange and thankful it wasn’t any of them getting sounded like that was Petey, Rasheeda and Fila. They just sat there like they were watching a tennis match go back and forth.
Whatever, bitch. It’s like this now, Mimi thought.
If Netta had seen the piercing of Mimi’s eyes as she tightened her lips, then maybe she could have said some softer words, but Netta didn’t notice how embarrassed and hurt Mimi’s feelings were. Netta forgot how emotional Mimi could be. Though this wasn’t the first time Netta pulled her card, held court and checked her; this was the first time she didn’t do it privately. Lately, arguing over little small and petty disputes was happening more frequently. Mimi was beginning to think that no matter what she did, no matter how much she got out of a hustler, it wasn’t good enough to please Netta, the only person she ever wanted to impress.
Placed in the same situation, Netta always thought she could have milked more out of a hustler and she could. But when her clique didn’t live up to her expectations, she tended to look down on them. Although only a year younger than Netta, Mimi felt that they were on the same level. Physically they were equal. Both were drop dead gorgeous. Netta was 5’11”, dark-skinned with an ample amount of behind and chest. Mimi was 5’8”, light-skinned with a well-proportioned, petite body. To choose between them was a tossup. It all depended on your personal preference. Do you like your women light-skinned or dark-skinned? The choice was yours. Either way, you couldn’t go wrong.
Mentally, it was a different ball game though. Mimi survived in the game while Netta thrived in it. She was mentally tough. This attribute could be traced back to her childhood, having to fend for herself early in life. Just like Mimi’s shortcomings could be traced back to her childhood too. The girls were different in many ways. Mimi had a mother and father, was spoiled and lived a more sheltered life, while Netta had been dealt a different hand of cards. What Netta had, though, that Mimi didn’t, was the ability to think on her feet and adapt like a chameleon to any situation. To her, the ends justified the means.
At times, Netta’s only purpose in life was to play on hustlers. She got a rush from having things first. This was her obsession. She was the first to own a car, a home and so on. She was a trendsetter for the Pussy Pound.
Faking a smile, Mimi sizzled inside. Puffing on a blunt, she listened to the idle chitchat. She couldn’t shake the ill feeling that crept inside her heard toward Netta. A gap was growing daily between the two. The game, the money and the hustlers had all placed these two friends in direct competition with each other.
No doubt, Mimi and Netta loved each other, but beneath the surface, that love was beginning to go sour. This was due to an overdose of competitive jealousies and girlish animosities, some real and some imagined, but constantly arising. She thinks she’s cuter than me. Her man makes more than mine does. She got this, and I don’t. And so on and so forth.
After taking another long drag on the blunt, Mimi deeply inhaled it, taking smoke through her nostrils and mouth simultaneously. Then, she passed the blunt to Netta and smiled the fakest smile in the world. A million questions went through Mimi’s mind. Who does Netta think she is? She always got some shit to say out her mouth, tryin’ to down talk somebody. I know she don’t actually think she’s better than me.
Netta smiled back and took the blunt out of Mimi’s fingers and into hers. Minut
es later and only a few feet away, Netta sat in her navy-blue Italian leather recliner zoning. A smile still pasted on her face. She had a hot date tonight with Tone, the kid from New York. She couldn’t wait. But, that wasn’t the only thing on her mind; she was starting to think that she might have been a little too hard on her homegirl, Mimi. She did have the best intentions for her friend. She only wanted Mimi to peep game, before she got gamed. She wanted for her friends what she wanted for herself: the best.
Netta was so determined with her will that she forgot how sensitive Mimi cold be at times. Mimi was funny that way. However, an apology never entered Netta’s mind, it wasn’t her style. She said what she meant and meant what she said. Netta was definitely rough around the edges. Like it or not, she gave it to you how she got it: raw. She didn’t know how to sugarcoat the truth.
Netta rocked back and forth in the recliner watching Mimi get up and leave the room. Netta hoped she wasn’t bent out of shape. It wasn’t personal, but for Mimi it was.
Part I
The Past
Let’s go back for a bit ….
Chapter 2
Murphy Homes, better known as Murder Homes, was a rundown housing project located in West Baltimore, a stone’s throw away from downtown. This housing complex was a ghetto gold mine for criminals. Any violation of the law one could think of happened here on a daily basis. Murder, robbery, assault, rape, prostitution and drug dealing. It was a city within a city. It was breeding grounds for lawlessness, a destroyer of dreams and a death trap for low-income black families. However, to Shanetta Jackson, better known as Netta, it was home.
Netta was conceived out of wedlock to Renee Jackson and some big-time hustler named Dollar. Netta never met her father. She didn’t even know who he was. To her, he was only a tool God used to bring about her existence. He was nothing except her biological father.
For his part, Dollar never denied that Netta was his; he just never stuck around long enough to financially support her. He claimed Renee had purposely gotten pregnant to trap him. In return, Renee passed the buck to her unborn child. Blaming the pregnancy for running her man away, she contemplated having an abortion. But well into her second trimester, no physician would touch her.
The truth be told, she was never Dollar’s one-and-only woman to begin with, despite what Renee may have thought.
As Renee’s stomach began to protrude, Dollar started distancing himself from her. He got what he wanted. Now, he thought she was after his money. To keep Renee away, he concocted a story about a beef between him and another hustler over some money. Dollar was so convincing, Renee believed him. And once his appearances stopped, so did the money. This forced Renee to abandon the good-life lifestyle she had grown so accustomed to. Not to mention, she chose a man over her family by going against her mother’s wishes, dating Dollar and getting pregnant at sixteen. She had no choices. The bridge with her mother was burned. So, eight months pregnant, she moved in with a girlfriend in the projects until her name came up on the Housing Authority’s waiting list for a Section 8 apartment.
In the meantime, she got on welfare and WIC to support herself and her baby. She also had to help pay a portion of the rent. With six kids of her own, her girlfriend was struggling. There were eight people living in a two-bedroom apartment. Renee was miserable in these cramped and crowded conditions. She prayed that Dollar would come to his senses and do the right thing by rescuing her, but he never did. A month and a half later, Renee gave birth. And once Netta was born, it was on. Renee felt liberated after nine months of carrying around all that excess baggage. Her body quickly retained its previous shape and male suitors came calling, but not Dollar or any man on his level.
A year later, Renee was now living in her own two-bedroom apartment. Her name couldn’t have come up on the list any sooner. Renee now had all the privacy she needed.
One day while coming in from the rain, she held the door and helped an older woman with her bags, though she was struggling with Netta and the stroller. The older woman thanked her and looked down at Netta.
“She’s so pretty. Look at those eyes. She looks just like you,” the woman said with a kind smile.
“I don’t think so, but that’s what everyone says,” Renee said, wondering why people always had the same thing to say when they saw her daughter. She don’t hardly look like me, Renee thought, showing a smile anyway.
Renee and the old woman talked briefly in the elevator. Netta smiled as the older woman made coo-coo noises and smiled at her.
“You live in the building by yourself?” the older woman asked.
“Yes, me and my daughter.”
“Well, I’m Mae Morris. If you ever need anything, please feel free to come see me. I live in 7D,” Mae Morris said, as she gathered her groceries and exited the elevator. Miss Mae smiled her kind warm smile at Netta as the doors closed.
She’d make a good babysitter, thought Renee. The woman lived in the building and liked the baby. And, not to mention, she did offer her assistance. It was perfect. While Renee ran the streets, her infant daughter, Netta, was left downstairs in the care of Miss Mae. The kind lady befriended all the young mothers in the building. She babysat for next to nothing. Babysitting was good therapy for her in her old age. It kept her alert and alive. Often, she kept Netta overnight and well into the next day. This became routine when Renee’s party-hardy ways got the best of her.
Over the years, Miss Mae and Netta became extremely close. It was Miss Mae who gave her the nickname, Netta, and then had all the people in the building calling her the same. Netta spent so much time downstairs with Miss Mae in her formative years, she mistakenly thought the old woman was her mother, crying when Renee finally decided to come retrieve her.
“If you want, she can stay a little longer,” Mae said, clutching for the little two-year old, who was screaming and kicking for Miss Mae.
“No, she got to come home. She can come back tomorrow night,” Renee said, looking at Miss Mae and making sure her arrangements were okay with the older woman.
“Okay, that’s fine,” Miss Mae said, as tears came to her eyes. She watched teenaged Renee drag the two-year-old down the hall.
Netta’s cutting up when it was time to go infuriated Renee, adding fuel to her fire. In her ignorance, she couldn’t see she was neglecting her daughter. She couldn’t see that there was more to being a mother than just giving birth.
Behind closed doors, Renee punished Netta for what she perceived as her betrayal. Instead of rocking her daughter to sleep, she’d let her cry herself to sleep. When confronted about this by a friend, she explained she didn’t want to spoil the child.
“She’s already spoiled! The doctor said it’s good to let them learn to go to bed by themselves. She is two years old.”
The inadequate living conditions that existed inside Renee’s apartment were appalling compared to Miss Mae’s place. It was like night and day. The apartment was scarcely furnished and in shambles. Dirty and clean clothes were thrown everywhere. Unmade beds, dirty dishes and pots sat in the sink for weeks. The entire apartment was roach infested so much that Renee had to take Netta to the hospital on two occasions to have a roach removed from her ear. On the whole, this was no way for any human being to live.
When Miss Mae found out how they lived, she decided to keep Netta in her home as long as possible. She even bought Netta new clothes and washed her dirty ones. To Miss Mae, cleanliness was next to godliness. It was Miss Mae who helped Netta learn the ABC’s. She helped her learn to count to twenty and write her name. So, when it was time for Netta to begin kindergarten, she already knew the basics. Every day when the yellow school bus dropped the children off from elementary school, Netta would anxiously wait for the elevator door to open. In a race for time, she’d skip the hallway to Miss Mae’s door and Miss Mae was always there.
“Miss Mae, Miss Mae, I got a 100 on my math test today,” Netta said, knowing when she showed Miss Mae that gold star on her paper not only would she get
a real big hug, but a chocolate chip cookie, too.
“Netta, I’m so proud of you. I told you, you would pass that math test. Here baby, I got a chocolate chip cookie for you,” Miss Mae said as she hurried off into the kitchen. Netta just smiled.
As Netta grew, time only fortified her relationship with Miss Mae. Miss Mae picked up the slack left by Renee, becoming Netta’s surrogate mother. In private, Netta addressed Miss Mae as ‘Momma.’ And she never even called her own mother ‘Mom.’ From the day she was old enough to speak, Renee taught her to address her on a first name basis. As a matter of fact, it was Renee who insisted on this. Claiming ‘Mommy’ made her feel old and she was still young.
As Netta matured and headed towards puberty, Miss Mae taught her all about the birds and the bees and a woman’s hygiene, just like she had groomed her own daughters some thirty odd years ago. Her home became a nurturing environment and a safe haven for Netta.
Mother and daughter looked so much alike that the older folks in the building used to say Renee spat Netta out. Comments like those outraged Renee, even thought it was the God honest truth. It was self-evident in all actuality. The older she got, the more Netta became a mini version of her mother. They shared the same physical features: full lips, thick eyebrows and long hair, courtesy of their Indian roots, a smooth jet-black complexion and the funniest colored eyes straight from the Bayou.
The only difference between mother and daughter was Netta was on the rise and Renee was going down. This was just one of a long list of reasons why Renee secretly despised Netta. She was reminded every day of who and what she once was. Netta had robbed her of her youth, or at least that’s what she thought. Only a teenager when she had Netta, Renee had to grow up fast. She never got the chance to fully enjoy her adolescence.
B-More Careful Page 2
