by C. Wash
Mack removed the oxygen mask from his face and stared at his daughter. He looked at her hazel eyes that mirrored his own eye color and smiled. She turned out to be everything I would want in a son or daughter. I pray that she gets some help before she ruins her life or someone else’s. Mack thought.
“Ok, Mystro…you win. Come here,” Mack said, holding his weak arms open to embrace her into his frail body.
Mystro leaned down to hug her father. He pulled her in, with all the strength he could muster, for a long embrace. Mystro was so close now, she could smell the foul odor coming from his breath, but placed it out of her mind. She didn’t want to ruin the moment.
“I…love you…Mystro,” Mack said to his daughter barely above a whisper, trying to fight back his emotions.
“I love you too, daddy,” Mystro said choking back her tears. It was the first time since she was a little girl that she called him daddy instead of Mack. “Get some rest, I’ll see you again soon.” Mystro kissed her father for the last time before leaving his room. And before she could leave out of the hospice completely, Mack Mason flat lined.
Chapter 16
Mystro was alone at Bar 100, which was a mixed culture lesbian lounge in the uptown section of Washington DC. She laid her pops to rest two days ago. It was one of the hardest things she ever had to do in her life so far. Seeing the man who took care of her, who she loved despite their differences, lying there life-less broke her down.
She reflected back on the last two times she kissed her daddy. The night in the hospice, minutes before he died, and the day of the funeral, right before they closed his casket. She thought about the difference in how in one kiss his body was warm and still held life. And in the other kiss, his body felt like ice. Mystro was a wreck, and she didn’t know what direction to take with her life. Although Native and even Baby Dom were both right there by her side for the entire ordeal, Church wasn’t.
Mystro could not understand why Church could be so cold. She did not come to the funeral nor did she call to check up on her. Mystro was hurt by her inaction, how could the woman she wanted to be her wife, not be there for her when she needed her the most? She needed answers now. She was angry, hurt and worst of all she was drunk.
“Shawty,” Mystro yelled attempting to get her bartender’s attention.
“Another one, sweetie,” the white bar temptress asked. She had been trying to flirt all night, but Mystro had a one-track mind and didn’t pick up on her advances.
“Naw, naw…I’m good, ma,” Mystro advised, slightly slurring her words. “Can you give me my check, I gotta press,” she requested, reaching into the back pocket of her black Levis for her wallet.
The bartender gave Mystro her tab and without even looking at it, Mystro gave her a fifty-dollar bill and stood up to make her exit. Once she was on her feet, she felt the results of five peach Ciroc shots and three Budweiser’s. As she got herself together, she noticed the bartender staring at her.
“What’s up, shawty,” Mystro asked. “I ain’t give you enough?”
“No, it was more than enough, matter fact, here’s your change,” she said handing Mystro ten dollars back.
Mystro took the money from her and left a five-dollar bill for the tip.
“Are you gonna be ok,” the bartender asked.
“I’m straight, shawty, I’m on a mission,” Mystro said before heading out the lounge.
***Church’s House***
Mystro pulled up and parked across the small street from Church’s house. She noticed Church’s BMW sitting in the driveway and immediately drew heat.
‘She got the nerve to be home and not calling me.’ Mystro thought. She had enough.
“Fuck this shit,” Mystro said snatching open her car door to make her entrance onto the damp road. Once outside, she slammed the door and trotted across the street heading to the door “Church,” Mystro yelled banging on her front door. “Chuuuuuurrrcch…open this door,” she shouted.
After only a minute, Church snatched open her door and stepped out on to the porch. “Mystro, what the hell is wrong with you,” she banged.
“Fuck you mean what is wrong with me? Where you been? Why you ain’t been taking my calls?” Mystro roll called several questions to her.
“Keep your voice down, do you know what time it is,” Church asked.
“I don’t give a fuck ‘bout what time it is. Where you been?” Mystro barked snatching Church’s elbow and pulling her close to her.
Church immediately recognized the scent of alcohol on her breath. “Baby, calm down,” she said putting her petite hand on Mystro’s chest. “You been drinking and you are in no condition to discuss this tonight. How about you go get some sleep and we can talk tomorrow,” Church suggested.
“It is tomorrow,” she yelled, referring to the fact that it was after midnight. “Look at this,” Mystro stated releasing her grip on Church and snatching up her black Hugo Boss T-shirt exposing her tattoo of Church’s name. “Do this shit mean anything to you?” She asked.
Church remained silent.
“My daddy died,” Mystro broke down. “My daddy died and you don’t give a fuck,” she continued with streams of tears fleeing her eyes without permission.
“Baby,” Church said walking up on Mystro and caressing her face. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, is there anything I can do?”
Mystro used the inside of her shirt collar to wipe her tears in one motion. “Yeah, can I stay here tonight, I just need to be under you.”
“Uhhh, ummm, no, baby, tonight is not good,” Church said.
“What…Why not?”
“Because I’m just getting back in town. I’ve only been here for an hour and I’m completely exhausted. Just go home and get some rest and I’ll call you tomorrow,” Church instructed.
“That’s how you carrying it,” Mystro asked. “I tell you my daddy died and I wanna be with you and you tell me you exhausted?” Church stood voiceless and motionless. “You know what, fuck you, Church.” Mystro yelled as she stumbled back to walk to her car.
Church watched Mystro get in her Maxima and pull off in haste. But before she could get back inside, she heard a loud crash not too far from her house, coming from the same direction Mystro drove away.
Chapter 17
One Month Later
Mystro and Native were at Bowie Town Center walking around window-shopping. Ever since Mack died, they had taken a little bit of a break from performing so Mystro could grieve. Not to mention the fact that her and Church had not spoken since the night she confronted her at her house.
Secretly, Mystro was at a loss. There were days where she posted up, down the block from Church’s house to keep tabs on her, although, it never amounted to much. She would see Church coming and going, but always alone. Then she had an epiphany, and her father’s dying words resonated with her. She didn’t want to have to stalk women and force love upon them. Mystro decided to try and give her some space, and it was hard. She missed talking to her, holding her, and especially making love to her.
Now, their pockets were hurting, and rent was once again due, so the grieving and heartache would have to wait. It was time to pick up the broken pieces of her life and make money.
“Slim, did you call up the Delta to hold our spot for Friday,” Native asked Mystro.
“Oh, naw, let me go head and call now though.” Mystro reached into her black Nike basketball shorts pocket to retrieve her iPhone.
“Hello, do ya’ll still have slots open to perform on Friday?”
“Yep, what’s your name,” The club manager asked.
“This Mystro, and me and my homie dance under the name Hersband Material.”
“Oh…yeah, umm, my bad, Mystro, we booked up.”
“Whatchu mean you booked up? You just said you had an opening.” Mystro looked over at Native.
“I’m sorry I forgot we had just filled up right before you called. Try us next week.” The manager hung up the phone, before she could dispute.
Mystro looked confused as she pulled the phone off her ear to see if he really did hang up.
He did.
“Son, this mothafucka on some bullshit. You heard my first question right,” Mystro asked Native for reassurance.
“Yeah, you asked him if they still had slots.” Native cosigned.
“Right, the bamma told me yeah and asked for my name. Soon as I told him, he switched up. Talking ‘bout, naw they booked,” she explained still holding up the phone near her face.
“You don’t think they trying to carry us on purpose do you,” Native asked.
“I’m not sure, but I know if we don’t perform we gonna be short on rent again.”
“Shit,” Native shouted. “Mommy gonna be coming for our heads too. How much you got now?”
Mystro dug into her pocket and retrieved her wallet. She quickly counted all the bills. “Son, I got forty on me and about thirty in my account.”
“Thirty in your account? I thought you was stashing more than that,” Native said.
“I was, but you know I had to put it to Mack’s funeral,” Mystro advised sadly.
“Damn…right. My bad, slim.”
“How much you got?” Mystro asked changing the subject back.
“Shit I ain’t got but thirty myself,” Native advised. “And if we ain’t got at least the whole two bills for mommy, she liable to go ham. Fuck. This is the last thing we need.”
**Back At Home**
When Mystro pulled up on their block, she felt something was up. Her thoughts were confirmed when she saw Baby Dom running off the porch frantically, in their direction, with her arms filled with clothes.
“Baby Dom, fuck you doing?” Mystro yelled out of her open car window.
“Fam, mommy up there going. She tossing ya’ll shit out,” Baby Dom yelled.
“What,” Native yelled throwing the car door open and jumping out.
“BD, move out the way so I can park,” Mystro instructed.
She needed to make sure Baby Dom was out of the street completely. She could not rely on her passenger side mirror to use as a guide to not hit anything on that side anymore. The night she left Church’s house drunk and pissed, she accidently jumped the curb and hit a dumpster, knocking her mirror smooth off. That was the loud crash noise Church heard.
Baby Dom immediately moved out of the way and followed behind Native who was already heading to the house.
“Mommy, what you doing,” Native asked, picking up her clothes and shoes that were now decorating the front porch. She was heated too, she cherished her gear and her mother was totally disrespecting that fact.
“Do you have my rent?” Margaret stopped her eviction tactics to ask.
“Mommy, come on man, you ain’t have to do us like this. You know we gonna pay you,” Native pled. “You act like we strangers or something.”
Mystro trotted up to the porch after parking and could not believe the sight before her. It looked like a Downtown Locker Room store exploded. Most of their belongings draped the porch.
“Gonna pay me,” Margaret repeated. “I don’t wanna hear that shit. You know you late, and I told you what would happen if my money wasn’t on time. Now do you have it or not?”
“Ms. Houston, we only have half of it now,” Mystro chimed in. “We would have had it all, but I had to use my savings for my daddy’s funeral expenses.”
“Yeah, man, that’s what I was trying to tell you –”
“Shut up, Native,” Margaret scolded.
Baby Dom laughed out loud before catching herself and continuing to help pick up their stuff.
“Mystro, I am sympathetic to your situation. You know I am, but the white man don’t wanna hear no excuses when he come asking me for the mortgage. I got to pay him or we all outta here, and on the street,” Margaret explained. “Now, I’ma give ya’ll one more week to get the rest of my money. But if you do not have it by then, you both got to go,” she firmly stated. “I’m not taking care of no grown ass women.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mystro replied.
Margaret held her hand out for the half payment. Mystro dug into her pocket and retrieved the money she had. Native did the same, and they handed it to Margaret who took it and walked back towards the door to go inside.
“Damn, mommy, you cold,” Native said angrily. “Can you at least help take some of this stuff back inside?”
Mystro and Baby Dom both burst into laughter.
Native didn’t crack a smile. “I’m serious, shit she the one got all this stuff out here man.” Native fumed, while she wiped off her construction Timbs and placed them back into their box.
“Native, you lucky I didn’t sell half that shit on Greg’s List, and get my damn rent money.” Margaret stood in the doorway. “Now, I mean it. Have my hundred dollars by next Friday or you out on your asses.” Margaret walked inside, slamming the screen door behind her.
“We in trouble,” Mystro confessed. “She not fucking around with us no more. We need cash now.”
Chapter 18
“Slim, hand me the gun oil and the rod,” Mystro asked.
She and Native were sitting at home in the living room doing nothing. Mystro decided to clean the resident .32 caliber gun. They had been in the house for most of the week following the Porch Massacres and were bored stupid.
“Man, I can’t take this shit, son,” Native shouted out. “I’m losing my mind. I ain’t been out this house, I ain’t got no pussy, I ain’t got no new gear. I’m suffering, son.”
“You be aight, champ. It ain’t even been a week,” Mystro said laughing. “Why you don’t call Ife? I’m sure she would love to slide through and tighten you up in more ways than one,” Mystro suggested.
“Man, I ain’t fucking wit’ that broad no more, she crazy as cat shit.” Native flipped through the channels on the DVR.
“You gonna fuck around and marry that chick, watch,” Mystro joked. “Remember I said that shit too.”
“Never,” Native yelled. “I’ll fuck a nigga before I get married to anybody, let alone Ife’s ass. Bet that,” Native confessed.
“Yeah, ok.” Mystro continued to laugh and clean the gun.
There was a rhythmic knock on the door indicating it could only be one person, Baby Dom. Native got up to answer it, while Mystro packed up all her weapon cleaning paraphernalia.
“What’s up, killa,” Native said to Baby Dom as she opened the door wide to let her inside. They decided to give her another chance and let her in the house, after she didn’t snatch their belongings off the porch for profit.
“Ain’t shit, fam. Where ya’ll been,” Baby Dom asked coming into the living room, and eyeing Mystro while she stash the gun and cleaning kit under the couch.
“We been right here, day in and day out. Not doing shit,” Native yelled flopping on the couch, after closing and locking the door.
“Native got cabin fever, BD,” Mystro said laughing, removing her latex gloves.
“You sick, Fam,” Baby Dom approached Native, attempting to feel her head for a fever.
“Fuck no, nigga, get off me.” Native pushed her hand away.
“Naw, cabin fever is a figure of speech. It means somebody tired of being cooped up in they crib,” Mystro explained.
“Ohhhh…aight. But why you cooped up?”
“We broke, nigga. Ain’t got no ends to do nothing,” Native answered.
“Oh is that all, shit as long as I got it, ya’ll do too,” Baby Dom said, digging into her grey Nike sweatpants pocket to retrieve her money.
Mystro and Native looked at each other in shock. Baby Dom never ceased to amaze them.
**Hours Later**
With the money Baby Dom provided, she treated them to Pizza and alcohol. They made a liquor store run first, and purchased Ciroc and beer. Once they were back home, they ordered pepperoni pizza from the delivery spot that made everything fresh. They kicked it old school in the house, and had more fun than they have had in weeks. It was just what
they needed after a week of nothingness.
“Son, I’m ‘bout to hit the Delta up and make sure we good for Friday,” Native advised reaching for her phone to make the call. “Because all this shit is cool, but it ain’t making us no money.” The phone rung a few times before someone answered. “Yeah, what’s up, I’m calling to get a spot on the lineup for this Friday. It’s not too late is it?”
“Ummm, naw—” The man on the phone stopped short. “Wait…what’s your name?”
“Native, from the duo Hersband Material,” she stated.
“Ok, well, we booked up still. But if something opens up, we’ll call you.” He hung up the phone.
“Man, that’s some bullshit,” Native yelled slamming her phone onto the couch. “Something ain’t right, son. Every time we call they got slots, until we mention the name Hersband Material.”
“Maybe ya’ll should change your name then,” Baby Dom suggested, biting into a slice.
“That ain’t what I’m talking about,” Native shouted. “The shit is starting to seem personal.”
“What you thinking,” Mystro asked. “You think we being blackballed?”
“I’m feeling like we are. I mean two weeks straight…that raggedy ass club popping like that? Naw, the word has been put out on us, slim. We been cut off, and you know by who.” Native deduced.
“Should I call her,” Mystro asked disappointed and nervous about having to hear Church’s voice.
“Yeah, I mean I don’t fuck with her like that, but if anybody would know what’s up it’s her.”
Baby Dom rolled her eyes and sipped her beer.
Mystro unplugged her cell phone from the charger, and scrolled through her calls looking for Church’s number. When she located it she took a deep breath, before hitting the call button. After three rings, Church picked up.
“Hey stranger,” Church greeted.
