The Coldest Winter Ever

by Sister Souljah

  I saw a phat nail design in this Chinese lady’s shop so I went in and got my hands redone. She was overcharging. When I asked her the price she could tell from the look in my eyes that she was about fifty dollars over the normal nail-design fee. But she was smart. I never seen the same nail designs she was pushing anywhere, so I told myself, Hey, she’s a businesswoman, I’m a businesswoman. Motherfuckers gotta respect that. I got a fly design and easily calculated a way to pass this personal expense on to my loyal customers at the house.

  11

  Saturday evening the House of Success was like a ghost town. Besides the security staff, no one was there except Rashida. She was lying on her bed, reading her book, of course.

  “What’s up, girl?” I asked Rashida, trying to get things between me and her back to normal by striking up a little conversation.

  “A letter came for you,” she said dryly. “It’s on your bed.”

  Winter—

  This letter is to the most beautiful daughter any man could ever have. I couldn’t see you the other day. I was concentrating on things that needed to be done. But the real shit is I needed a shave and a haircut. I didn’t want you to think your pops was falling off (smile).

  Listen, don’t worry about me, you know I’m holding it down. I’m a fighter and so are you. I raised you to be on top. I got to admit, I wish the rest of the family was strong like the two of us. A lot of them been breaking down under the pressure, slipping. I thought I could depend on certain family members to take care of some small but important things, now I know that I can’t. Now there’s a lesson for you Winter. When you’re making the dough it’s all love. The click is tight and the family’s ’bout it. When your dough is low, you ain’t shit. Niggas forget what you done for them, what they owe you.

  I need a small favor, Winter. If you can do it, good. If you can’t, don’t worry over it. Get in touch with Midnight, I need something taken care of that I can’t trust anybody else to do. Tell him to drop me a line or pay me a visit.

  Poppa Santiaga

  Two tears came rolling down without my permission.

  “Is everything okay?” Rashida asked. “Is your mom alright?”

  “Everything’s cool,” I said, quickly clearing the tears from my face.

  “Why do you always do that?” Rashida asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Act like you’re so cool, like you’re in control of every little thing. Why can’t you just admit when something isn’t alright so somebody could help you?”

  “You bugging! These are happy tears; I’m fine. But since we’re on the topic of things people do that we hate, why do you always wear that damned ponytail? Why don’t you try to live a little? Let your hair down.”

  “Depends on what you consider living, Winter.”

  “Oh, I guess you’re not like everybody else,” I said smartly. “I try not to be.”

  So I pushed it. “Do you have a man, Rashida?”

  “Nope.”

  “Probably because of that damned ponytail,” I laughed.

  “Listen,” Rashida said, like she lost her mind and was about to get loud. “I’m not Claudette. I know who I am and all that. I’m not just looking for a man, I’m not ready yet. When I’m finished working on myself then I’ll bother with that.” Ignoring her explanations, I asked and stated at the same time.

  “So you like girls, huh? It’s cool, I don’t judge nobody.”

  “You’re crazy, Winter! I didn’t say nothing about liking girls. I’m just taking my time. I’m only sixteen.”

  “Are you still a virgin, Rashida?”

  “You’re not?” she shot back at me.

  “Yeah I am … Hell no,” I said, as I busted out laughing. “I been fucking since I was twelve years old. I started late. How about you?”

  “Well, you could say I’m a virgin because I never had sex voluntarily. I just never had those kinds of feelings for a man. I guess you could say I just find it hard to trust any guys. So I’m waiting to meet a brother who won’t mind just taking everything nice and slow.”

  “Good luck!” I said, with a doubtful voice. I wasn’t gonna get all personal with her. “Hey, do you want to go to a concert with me tonight?” I asked.

  “Who’s performing?”

  “Wu-Tang and Death Squad. You know, hip-hop.”

  “Nah, I’ll pass,” Rashida said unenthusiastically.

  “You might as well come. If not, you’d be the only one left on this floor,” I warned her.

  “It’s OK. It took me awhile, but now I’m okay with being alone. Besides, security is here.”

  By 10:20 P.M., I figured out that Simone wasn’t showing up. I wasn’t mad at her, but I wasn’t rolling to the concert alone either. No doubt her big ass was either somewhere eating or sleeping. Finally I got Rashida to loosen up enough to try on my Adrienne Vittadini dress. She spun around, looking at herself in the mirror.

  “You see, this is what I’m talking about. This kind of dress gets a girl in trouble. Trouble is what I don’t need. I tried it on. Are you satisfied? Now you can have it back.”

  Rashida looked so good in my dress I was happy to take it back from her.

  When the lights went out I lay awake in my bed thinking about Santiaga’s letter. I know I said I was going to act like he was dead. Now things were different. I understood why he refused my visit last time. He didn’t have anything to give to me. He felt he couldn’t do nothing for me. I believed him when he said he didn’t want me to see him ’cause he didn’t have it all together that day. What he didn’t know was that he would forever be my hero, regardless of the small stuff. Before, I was crushed, devastated even. Now I realized that me and him were just alike. We were both born to win. And, when we were not winning, it was OK ’cause we were busy planning to win.

  Next time I see Simone I would remember to ask her to sniff around and see if anyone in the Brooklyn neighborhood had heard from or seen Midnight. If anybody knew of his whereabouts, if anything had been said or even whispered, Natalie would know it. It would be hard to get Simone to ask Natalie about him because since me and her started hanging out Simone made it clear that Natalie gets on her nerves. Plus Natalie would know that Simone was asking about Midnight for me. You know she wasn’t tryna help me out. But I was sure if anybody would know, Natalie would. If Natalie knew, somebody else around the way knew, ’cause Natalie can’t ever keep her mouth shut!

  It had been months since Midnight had left me. Santiaga’s letter brought him back to the centerfold of my thoughts. It had been weeks since I had laid there in the dark imagining his fine body on top of me. No doubt I still had mad love for him. If what Daddy wanted would lead me to being able to see Midnight again, then locating him could make both me and Daddy happy at the same time. My thoughts were interrupted by Rashida’s voice. I thought she had fallen asleep.

  “Remember when you asked me to ask Souljah if she knew somebody named Midnight? Well I did. And, I think the reason you don’t like Sister Souljah is because of a man.”

  “What?” I responded, with my ears at attention. “I told you I don’t even know her.”

  “Yeah, but you know this guy Midnight. From the look on Souljah’s face when I asked her if she knew Midnight, she knew him well. You know, like in a man-woman way.” I felt the heat in my body rising. I sat stiff in the dark waiting for Rashida to continue on her own. But she didn’t.

  “What did she tell you?” I asked, trying to sound half interested.

  “Oh, now you’re interested in what Souljah has to say!” Rashida said with a chuckle. I could tell she thought she had the upper hand on me. So I played cool.

  “No, I’m just saying, Rashida, did Souljah tell you that Midnight was her man or something?”

  “Don’t try to play it off, Winter. I can hear it in your voice. You’re in love with this guy and Sister Souljah is his girl so you don’t like her. You’re jealous!”

  Needing to stab her back because she was tryna score point
s on me I said, “What would Sister Souljah be doing with a drug dealer as a boyfriend?” Rashida became quiet. So I continued. “Wouldn’t that make Souljah a fake, dating a drug dealer?”

  “Is Midnight a drug dealer?” Rashida asked, as if she didn’t hear what I said.

  “Is Midnight Souljah’s man?” I pushed, waiting on an answer.

  Rashida, in a less confident tone now, added, “Well Souljah didn’t say Midnight was her man. She just had a look on her face when I mentioned his name, like there was some love there. You know she had one of those smiles you see in the movies, like Diana Ross had for Billie Dee Williams, or Jada Pinkett had for Allen Payne, or like Nia Long had for Larenz Tate in Love Jones. You know what I mean.”

  I pictured Rashida’s dumb ass sitting in the dark trying to duplicate the smile. I decided right then and there that she’s a crazy bitch who definitely can’t be trusted to be my middleman in any negotiation. I’d squeeze her for as much as I could get out of her. Then I’d cut her ass off.

  “So what else did Souljah say?”

  “Well,” Rashida said reluctantly. “She got curious about how I knew Midnight. I told her I didn’t know him but have a friend who does.”

  “What did she say then?”

  “She said she had spoken to Midnight recently and he was doing much better.”

  “What else?”

  “That’s it.”

  My mind was listening for each little detail. What did Souljah mean Midnight was doing much better. Was he sick or something? Rashida, still trying to put two and two together for herself said, “So, am I right? Are you in love with Midnight? Is he a drug dealer?”

  “No,” I said to Rashida, “I’m just like you. I don’t love nobody. Midnight is my first cousin. We grew up together. He moved away and I haven’t heard from him. My mother practically raised him. I need him to get in touch with my mom right away, just in case anything happens with her illness, you know?” Rashida became quiet. “He’s not a drug dealer. I just said that to shake you up a little. You should never just follow somebody the way you follow Souljah. Just think how disappointed you would have been if she turned out to be a hypocrite.”

  “True,” Rashida mumbled, “but she’s not a hypocrite. She’s for the people. She’s helped me a lot personally just being able to talk to her, to know she’s actually listening and really loves me means a whole lot.”

  “Do you really believe she loves you?”

  “I’m just saying …” Rashida backtracked. “She cares about how my life turns out, how my story ends, that’s more than I can say about a bunch of people. Even people in my own family.”

  “Whatever, Rashida,” I said shortly, dismissing her.

  “I really wish you would come to meet Souljah or join her woman-hood class or something.”

  “Not hardly,” I shot back.

  Early Sunday morning I called Simone. I didn’t get no answer. Maybe she decided to give somebody some of that pregnant pussy. I couldn’t be mad at that. Simone had worked hard for her baby. She deserved a good fuck. I laughed just thinking about what type of position a dude would have to twist her up into just to get close to her stuff. I bounced out to the stores for the rest of the day. I had ideas that needed to be taken care of.

  When I got back to the house late in the afternoon, seconds after I arrived, Lashay called me to the phone. I stepped into the corridor to pick it up.

  “Winter! Are you sitting down?” Simone’s voice asked.

  “What,” I laughed, “are you having triplets or something?”

  “I got knocked.”

  “What?”

  “I’m locked down. I been here all weekend long. I’m cold, I’m hungry, and I’m dying to get the fuck out.”

  “What happened?”

  “What happened? That stupid-ass pink dress happened, that’s what. That shit was so fly they had security guards just to watch it! Anyway, I need fifteen hundred dollars to make bail.”

  “Fifteen hundred dollars,” I repeated. “Why so much? What ever happened to ROR [released on your own recognizance]?”

  “Yeah well, they seen me down here more than a couple of times before. So the crab-ass judge tryna lock me down for a year. If these motherfuckers try to take my baby, they gonna have to upgrade my charges to murder!”

  “Alright, Simone, who do you want me to see about the money? Who do I need to talk to?”

  “Stop fucking around, Winter. This shit ain’t funny. Just put the loot up and we’ll make it back as soon as I walk out this dump.”

  “What about your money? Where were you keeping that stashed?”

  “You mean the baby’s money? I can’t touch it, Winter. It’s for the baby. Come on, just do me this one solid. I’ll hit you right back soon as you bail me out. You know how we do!”

  “Can’t you get it from your moms or anybody else?”

  “Winter, that’s a dumb-ass question. You know the runnings. I can’t get shit that I don’t make for myself.”

  “So why can’t you use the baby’s money to get yourself out? Then you could make the baby’s money back.”

  “Damn, Winter! Because anything could happen with the baby. The way these motherfuckers got me stressed the shit could drop out right now. Winter, listen, I might have to use the baby’s money for a lawyer anyhow. They sent some legal aid guy with a nervous twitch and a nasty skin problem. He’s already talking about plead guilty and shit like that. This motherfucker was kicking it in the hallway with the prosecutor like they old buddies ’n shit. There’s something about this time that got me worried.” Simone’s voice sounded serious. “Winter, I can’t have my baby in here, word up. It’s dirty, it’s cold, it’s wet. They’ll take her from me. Just come on down. I’m good for it. You know I’m good for it. I’m in the pen downtown.”

  That’s one thing I hate about friends, I thought. Now how you gonna game a gamer? How does Simone think she’s gonna trick a trickster? She purposely made that story up about the pink dress having got her arrested. Now I’m supposed to feel guilty about the situation and spend my hard-earned cash to get her ass out. How do I know that’s what really happened? Sure, she helped me to make dough in the past, but not really when you think about it. She brought the products, but I paid her for the products. It was all fair and square. It wasn’t her doing me a favor, it was a business deal straight up. She would have never done business with me if she wasn’t getting her cut out of it. I was the one who had to take the time to get along with all of those crazy stupid-ass females in the House of Success. I was the one who had to convince them one by one to give me their money. Them hair products and all that shit wouldn’t mean nothing if I didn’t have the flavor to freak the styles the right way. Besides, who was she fooling, talking about the money she saved is for the baby. Hell, the money I saved is for something too! She acts like that baby is supposed to mean everything to everybody, when the truth is it only means something to her! She probably ain’t even got no dough saved. She did something stupid with her money. Now she wants me to do something stupid with mine. Now I’m calculating this scene. She already told me she was planning to slow up with her boosting. Which is just one way of saying she don’t want to do it no more. Now I’m supposed to give my cash to her. She’ll pay me back, she says. But I can see it already. I’ll bail her out. She’ll get scared that the judge is really gonna put her ass away. Then she’ll give me some lame-ass excuse, like she’s too tired to boost. She keeps falling asleep. She needs to lay low until after she has her baby, just to be on the safe side. When the kid comes out, she’ll be talking about how the baby changed her outlook and she don’t wanna get back into trouble. The bottom line is, I get beat for my dough. Every way I turn this around I lose. I thought about it a second. If I leave my partner in the cold that makes me “the bitch.” But, I’d rather be a bitch with money in my hand, a sure thing. Like Santiaga said: When you got dough everybody’s cool with you. When your dough is low nobody knows your name.

&
nbsp; I’d have to get my own hustle on now. After shopping today I only got twenty-five hundred to my name. I’d make it work to my advantage. I ain’t giving Simone shit. I laid my finger on the receiver, the call disconnected. Simone called back one more time. In exchange for two cigarettes the security guard told Simone, “Winter ain’t here.”

  By Tuesday night I was in deep concentration. I had spent my day putting a package together for Santiaga. It had everything I could think of him needing inside. I had dipped in my stash to get him some Salvatore Ferragamo shoes. I bought him a crisp, white Versace dress shirt, the kind he liked. The slacks I purchased from Barney’s. I bought him a carton of cigarettes and a carton of cigars for bargaining. I placed two hundred fifty dollars in an envelope to drop in his commissary. All this with a bottle of Issey Miyake cologne would set him up lovely on the inside. A lot of people think a prisoner can’t style. They think all he can rock is a jail jumpsuit. But prisoners who ain’t suckers, who got family who ain’t been convicted yet, can chill in the best clothes. Now if a man holds position, he can keep the shit he owns ’cause niggas know better than to try to rob him for it. Santiaga wouldn’t have problems like this. After thinking about it, I knew it was important for me to get this package up to him. I needed to show that Santiaga got family on the outside checking for him.

  There would be no surprises on my next visit. I set my mind up so that if Daddy refused to see me, I could handle it. ’Cause after I put the money in his commissary and dropped off the package it would only be a short time before he would welcome me in or at least drop me a new line.

  Cattle on the bus was the way we rode to Riker’s Island. I caught the bus in Queens with sixty other women and children. Chemical warfare is the only way to describe what happens when cheap perfume, body splash, body spray, underarm deodorant, curl activator, hair spray, and pissy Pampers collide. I chose to stand up after I almost sat down in a seat with some red Juicy Juice drink spilled in it. My white sharkskin skirt would have been ruined. Lucky for some kid and her mother I didn’t make that mistake. ’Cause in addition to overcrowding, there would have been some ass-whipping on that bus. From the bus to the Riker’s Island waiting room, the air went from stank to stale. With all those bodies in one area … Let’s say, niggas draw heat.