by L. Divine
“Hey, Jayd,” he says into my neck. His lips are still as smooth as Mama’s shea butter. Why did I come here? I’m still weak for this man and that ain’t good.
“Are you and my brother back together now?” Kamal says, tugging at my pants leg before Raheem releases me from his tight grip.
“Lil man, that’s none of your business,” I say. “But no, we’re not.” Raheem looks a little hurt by my definitive answer. But, I want to make sure everyone knows I’m no longer available to him or any other man, for that matter. Jeremy’s the only man for me right now. And, after all the drama we’ve been through to be together in the past few weeks, I’m not giving him up for anyone. Least of all another ex.
“You look good. Smaller, but still as fine as ever,” he says, first looking at my breasts, then the rest of me. “How you feeling?”
“I’m feeling fine. And, you’re not looking so bad yourself. What did you do, take some growth pills or something?”
“Now you know being tall is in my DNA. It just took me a while to catch up,” he says, directing Kamal into the house. Nigel and I follow right behind them.
“Alright, lil man. It’s time for bed,” Raheem says, ushering Kamal into the hallway toward the bedrooms.
“But, Rah, it’s only ten. And, Jayd just got here,” Kamal whines. “I haven’t seen her since I was little.”
“You’re still little, which is why your ass has to go to bed, now. You’re too young to hang with the big boys,” he says, picking Kamal up in the air and throwing him over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes.
“Put me down. You don’t want none of this, man!” Kamal screams, playfully hitting his brother’s back.
“Say goodnight. And, I’m sure you’ll see Jayd again soon,” Raheem says, looking at me from the corner of his eye. Westingle brothas have no self-esteem issues. “Y’all make yourselves comfortable and I’ll be right back.”
As Nigel and I walk farther into the house, I see truly not much has changed. Directly ahead of us in the living room is still the same oversize cream leather couch with the huge aquarium right behind it. The big, flat-screen television is new, though.
“Jayd, you want something to drink?” Nigel says, walking through the dining room and into the kitchen, toward the bar. “You know Tasha keeps the house stocked with Hennessey,” he says, taking two glasses out of the cupboard.
“Now you know I don’t drink. But, I will take some water.” Looking around, I notice it still looks like a party house. There are no family pictures around at all. Just fancy Black art on the walls, big tropical plants in every corner, and plenty of liquor. Nigel puts a bottled water on the counter and I walk over to retrieve it.
“Alright y’all. Let’s get this session started,” Raheem says, coming in from the hallway and leading us through kitchen toward the garage. I step out of the living room, following them both.
“So, how’s life treating you, Lyttle?” Raheem says, calling me by my former nickname. Nigel hands Raheem a glass of Hennessey and follows right behind me.
“Just fine. And, no one calls me that anymore,” I say, passing him as he opens the back door leading to the converted garage. When I step inside, I’m stunned by how much work he’s done in here. It no longer looks like a garage turned into a makeshift studio. It looks like a professional studio where the garage used to be.
“Damn, Rah. You’ve been hustling hard, huh?” I say.
“Me too, Jayd. We’ve been working hard up in here,” Nigel says, taking a seat on the green, L-shaped couch along one wall. On the other side of the room is the producer’s area, which has a turntable and a mixer damn near the length of the entire wall, several studio monitors, a subwoofer, and two sets of headphones and a microphone. There’s also a desk with a leather executive chair, and two computers for his Pro Tools. On the wall behind the desk is a large shelf lined with CDs, tapes, and vinyl.
“You guys ain’t playing at all about your shit,” I say, impressed. Most brothas talk about making music but never invest in their art. These two spend every dime on their music, and it shows.
“Not at all. As a matter of fact, we’re only two tracks away from our demo being finished and I plan on taking it to Atlanta with me next month. I want to see if some of Def Jam’s people are interested. I was there over the summer and I ran a track by this DJ up there who says he’s feeling our shit and got the hookup with some of Def Jam’s people. So, we’ll see what happens,” Raheem says, setting his Hennessey down on his desk before taking a seat. “Alright, Nigel, get your punk ass in the booth and make our heads bop,” he says, sounding like the Raheem I know and used to love.
“Damn, nigga, can’t we chill for a minute? I ain’t seen Lyttle—I mean, Jayd—in a couple of years. And, I know you want to catch up with her, don’t you,” he says, taking a blunt and some weed out of his pocket, ready to bless the session in their usual way.
“So, how’s the White school, Jayd?” Raheem asks, taking a sip of his drink and fiddling with controls on his mixer. Some smooth tunes start to play through the sub woofers, mellowing the vibe in the room.
“It’s real good, huh, Jayd?” Nigel says, ready to let all my business out. “She’s holding it down, from what I hear.”
“Shut up, Nigel,” I say, pinching him in the arm before taking a seat next to him on the couch.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, girl,” Raheem says, smiling in between sips. He looks at me as if he’s undressing me with his eyes and reading my thoughts at the same time. His spirit is so strong. I swear he’s been here a thousand times before.
“How’s Westingle?” I say, changing the subject. I don’t like being on the spot around Raheem. He can see straight through me, just like Mama. And, I don’t want to tell him too much about my new relationship, knowing he’ll dissect it and twist everything around, like he always does.
“It’s cool. Better than that wack-ass Family Christian. I’m glad my mom let me transfer out, not that she had much of a choice,” he says. “After my grandmother passed, there was no one to pay my tuition. And, my little brother needed me closer to his school anyway.”
“How’s your dad?” I ask, knowing he and his father are very close, even though he’s on lock down in Georgia for life. I assume that’s the real reason he’s visiting Atlanta.
“He’s cool, holding the Muslims down in there. You know how he does it.”
“But, back to the subject at hand,” Nigel says, passing an immaculately rolled blunt to Raheem who promptly lights it. Smoke soon layers the air. “Did you know Jayd dips in vanilla?”
“Nigel,” I say, slightly offended. Why did this fool have to go and say something stupid shit like that?
“What the hell does that mean?” Raheem says, passing the blunt to me. I shake my head a quick “no” and he passes it to Nigel, who’s just smiling and waiting for the argument. He always did love to start shit between me and Raheem, which isn’t hard. Raheem thought he owned me and I am always quick to let anyone know I’m my own woman.
“He’s referring to my new man, Jeremy,” I say, stealing some of Nigel’s thunder. “He’s Jewish,” I add, taking a sip of my water while Raheem processes what I’ve just told him. When he lived with his dad in Compton, we used to have long, philosophical conversations about White folks, especially interracial dating. Raheem swore he would never date a White girl. And I never even thought about dating a White boy, until I met Jeremy.
“Really?” Raheem says. “A White, Jewish boy?” he asks, surprised. He takes another sip of his drink while Nigel passes the blunt my way to give to Raheem. I rise slightly from my seat and pass it to him, unofficially becoming part of the rotation.
“Do you know another kind of Jewish boy?” Nigel says, sounding faded. Why did he have to bring this up now? I was really looking forward to just vibing and being in the studio. I get off on the process of making beats. It’s so incredible, the way they mix sounds to make an entire song. And, I love the way Ni
gel rhymes. I know I’m going to see them at the Grammys one day.
“Well, Sammy Davis, Jr., was Jewish,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
“Yeah, but you ain’t dating him. You’re dating a rich White guy named Jeremy. And, he ain’t related to no tap dancer,” Nigel says. Damn, he’s on it tonight.
“Is he treating you well?” Raheem asks, eyeing the gold bangle hanging from my wrist.
“Very,” I answer, self-consciously turning the bangle to its upside, revealing the engraved J on its face.
“Well, that’s all that matters, right, Jayd?” Raheem says, sounding sad yet sincere. “Let’s get started, man. All cell phones off during session. It’s getting late and I know you still have a curfew, don’t you?” he says looking from Nigel to me before putting the blunt out and putting his headphones on.
“That’s all you have to say?” Nigel says, surprised by Raheem’s response. “I expected a showdown like old times. I’m very disappointed in you man,” he says, rising from his spot and stepping into the booth.
“I got your letter. And, you can’t be the same Rah,” I say, also shocked by his chill attitude. Raheem looks at me like a wounded puppy before setting up the first track for Nigel to work on. I don’t know what to make of Raheem’s response. Is he disappointed in me, or in himself for letting me go in the first place? Whatever the case, I’m sure this is only the beginning of a new phase in our relationship.
“I hope you’re happy Jayd,” he says. “You just make sure he treats you like the queen you are, and nothing less.” And with that, Rah starts the music.
5
Endgame
“I can tolerate a still heart/ But I can’t stand being alone.”
—CREE SUMMER
When I get home at one in the morning, I turn my phone on to see Jeremy left two voice messages and one text message. I feel guilty for not fully disclosing last night’s plans, but I just didn’t think he’d understand.
“Miss, did you here my order?” this rude ass regular says to me, snapping me back into work. I’ve been here all morning, but really my mind has been on Raheem and Jeremy all along.
“Oh, my bad. Yes, I got it: a veggie burger with everything except sprouts, lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese,” I repeat, hoping he feels as stupid as he sounds.
“Don’t forget the onions,” he says looking at the menu like Shahid’s added something new in the week since this man’s last visit.
“You want onions?” I ask in a tone indicating I’m way past my tolerance level.
“No, no onions,” he reiterates, carefully returning the menu to its holder on the counter.
“Well, then why did you say you wanted everything when in fact, you want it plain?” I ask, knowing I’m way over the line, but I can get away with it because we all do it from time to time. Working in customer service can be a bitch.
“Oh, I hadn’t noticed. OK then, I’ll have a veggie burger, plain,” he says, all proud like he just took his first step. Whatever. My mind’s not here anyway. I just have to make it through the rest of my afternoon before my date with Jeremy tonight. I can’t help but think about the story of Maman Marie and what Mama said about women’s power in relationships. If that’s true, how do I use my power in my relationship with Jeremy to get him to take me to the homecoming dance? ’Cause I can’t be seen alone, especially not with Misty, Shae, and KJ going, not to mention my girls and their dates. I’ll stick out like hot pink cornrows on a White girl, and a sistah can’t have that.
When Jeremy gets to my mom’s house, I invite him up to talk for a while before we head out for the evening. I figure if he gets too upset I can handle it here better than out in public.
“Hey, baby,” I say, giving him a big hug and kiss before leading him to the couch.
“We better roll if we’re going to catch the show at nine,” he says. I don’t want to be late either. I’ve wanted to see Blood and Chocolate for a while now. But, I’ve got to convince him to go to the dance with me. It’s too important to let it go.
“We’ve got a little time,” I say, sitting close to him, forcing him to smell my perfume and look into my eyes. In reading her story, I discovered using her seductive qualities to get men to listen to her was one of Maman Marie’s tricks. And, she was very good at it. Maman had every man in Paris swooning after her, like Mama in New Orleans. I’ll try to be a little sweeter than the last time Jeremy and I talked about this.
“Hey, Jeremy,” I whisper.
“Yes, Jayd,” he says, waiting to see what I’m up to. He’s so cute when he looks at me like this. It makes me want to kiss his smile.
“Are you sure you can’t go to the dance with me?” I say, rubbing the inside of his thigh. “There will be a lot of dudes there and I don’t want to be caught alone,” I say.
“How did I know you were going to ask about the dance?” he says, stopping my hand with his and returning it to my leg. “I can’t be bribed, Miss Jackson.”
“I’m not trying to bribe you. I’m just showing you how much I value you,” I say, gently pinning him down. Without much effort, Jeremy picks me up and makes me stand, laughing the entire time.
“You’re so cute when you’re feisty,” he says, hugging me. “But, Jayd, I thought we discussed this. It has nothing to do with me not wanting to be with you. I told you I’ll drop you off and pick you up. Go, have a good time. Be with your girls. It’s Nellie’s night anyway and you’d ignore me the whole time,” he says, thinking he’s reassuring me. But, I don’t need reassuring. I need a man who’ll be present in my life, at dances and all.
“Why do I feel like I’m being patronized?” I say, pushing him away from me and getting my jacket off the rack by the door.
“I’m not patronizing you,” he says, coming up behind me and grabbing my waist. It will be hard to stay mad at him for long if he keeps touching me like this. He feels too damned good. But, not quite good enough to take away my swelling anger.
“Does this have something to do with Tania running for homecoming queen?” I ask, completely out of left field. According to Maman’s story, this was also a bad habit of the Williams women—saying the first thing on our minds, no matter how wrong it may be.
“What? No, hell no. I couldn’t care less about that girl, Jayd. Are you still jealous because she flirts with me in class, on the rare occasion she’s there?” he says, still hugging me. “Come on, Jayd. Don’t do this. It’s been a long week and I just want to kick it with my girl, watch a movie and chill, since you blew me off last night to do your hair,” he says, making me feel guilty.
“I’m not doing anything. You’re the one who won’t take his girl to the first party of the year and show me off, like a good boyfriend would,” I say. He has to take me to the dance. It just doesn’t make sense that he wouldn’t want to. “Are you ashamed to be seen at a school event with me? You don’t want people to know we’re a serious couple? What is it, Jeremy? It can’t just be because Reid’s president of ASB and they’re putting on the dance. That’s just silly and immature,” I say. I’m really pissed now. All my sweetness has flown out the door.
“Jayd, you’re taking this way too far. And, for the record, you were the one who didn’t want to be a serious couple until recently. Let’s just go before we miss the movie. If you can’t understand or simply respect the fact that I don’t want to go, then fine. You’ll either deal with it or not,” he says, like a man used to getting his way. He reaches past me to open the door and steps outside waiting for me to follow.
If he thinks this conversation is over, he’s got another thing coming. Maybe he’s used to broads accepting his word as the law. But, not me. Another pervasive quality in my legacy is the ability to persist indefinitely. I’ll just wait until after the movie to present my case again. He’ll eventually bend. He just has to.
After the long, silent ride to the theater, we each soften a little and sit hand in hand through the entire movie as if nothing happened. But, I’ve been boiling ins
ide the entire time, trying to figure out a way to get Jeremy to see the bigger picture. I have to speak his weird guy language in order to get him on my side. But how?
And, I still have yet to mention my studio adventures last night. I have to tell him before Monday. I’m sure Nigel will mention it at some point, which means Misty will hear, which means it’ll be around school by the end of the day. Better to diffuse the situation before it turns into something bigger than it is.
“Jeremy, do you play chess?” I ask as we walk out of the Marina Theater’s lot and toward the shopping area. It’s ten p.m. and people are hanging out all over the brightly lit outdoor mall.
“Yes, I do. My brothers and I have been playing for years,” he says.
“Really?” I say, planning my next move. “So, what’s your favorite piece?” I ask.
“I would have to say the queen,” he says, holding me tight as we walk around, window shopping.
“I knew you would say that,” I say, stopping in front of a store with my ideal homecoming dress. This must be a sign.
“Why do you think I like the queen so much?” he says, following my eyes down the full length of the red halter gown. With my gold Steve Madden heels and Jeremy by my side, this would complete my homecoming vision.
“Because she can move in any direction, giving her the most maneuverability on the board,” I reply, leading him into the store to watch me try on the dream dress.
“Well, that’s true. But, it’s not the main reason I like her so much.” As he breaks down his chess philosophy, I pick out a size seven and pull it off the rack. I notice the price is way out of my league, but I’m used to dreaming big. I know I can’t afford it, but I still want to try it on.
“Are you listening to me?” he says, smiling at me as I lead him into the dressing room area to sit in a waiting chair.
