Jayd's Legacy

by L. Divine

  Walking in, our eyes have to adjust to the dim light. But, even a blind person can see Mickey and Nigel making out in the producer’s corner. Trish, sitting on one side of the long couch and sipping her drink, is watching Scarface like she’s never seen it before and bobbing her head to the smooth beat playing in the background. This broad looks like a straight Westingle skank. And, I’m not only saying that because she’s here with Raheem and feeding Kamal, which used to be my job. She really does look like an uppity ho: Prada or Gucci black off-the-shoulder dress, black heels with her custom-made hair hanging down to her waist. Her nails are freshly manicured with french tips, and a platinum chain and bracelet to match with diamond studs on her earlobes her Daddy probably bought her for Christmas. This broad reeks Ladera Height’s money.

  “This is my favorite part,” Rah says, entering the room and passing Jeremy and me to sit on the couch, next to the skank. Jeremy gently pushes against my back, urging me to sit down. And I do, right next to Rah and Jeremy. Shit, the last place I want to be is in between the two of them. But, I can’t seem to get out of this one.

  “Nigga, come up for air. Here’s the best part,” Rah says, interrupting Nigel and Mickey’s flow. And, he’s right. As many times as I’ve seen this movie on his account, this is our favorite part.

  “Hey, Jayd, Jeremy,” Mickey says from her comfy spot on Nigel’s lap. “When did y’all get here?”

  “About two monkey bites ago,” I say, laughing at my girl, who looks very happy and unscathed by my response. She looks at Trish and rolls her eyes, indicating she’s getting the same vibe from her as I am: another stuck-up, hating broad. Nigel, appearing just as happy as Mickey, looks from me to Jeremy and back to Raheem and smiles, before getting into character.

  “Hey, yo, Vinny. Close the shop, man,” Nigel and Jeremy mimic in unison, along with the movie.

  “Ah, my man’s a fan,” Rah says, giving Jeremy dap across my lap. Ah, hell no. I got to move, but there’s nowhere to go but the floor.

  “Jeremy, are you hungry?” I ask, reaching to the table in front of us to grab a waffle. I love Pann’s food. Most people around here prefer Roscoe’s and it is good. But, Pann’s is where it’s at for me.

  “Nah, I’m good. But, maybe in a little while I’ll need to munch,” he says, pulling out a bag full of weed from his pocket. “Anybody smoke?” Jeremy asks, passing the bag behind me to Rah.

  “Where’d you get this shit?” Rah asks before revealing his own stash. “This almost looks like the strain I slang.”

  “My homeboy grows it,” Jeremy says, taking Rah’s stash and inspecting it before passing it back. What homeboy? I wonder. I know Jeremy smokes with his friends, but he’s never smoked around me before. Well, except at Matt’s. But, even then I’ve never seen him carry his own stash, until now.

  “White boys always have the bomb shit,” Rah says, opening Jeremy’s bag and smelling the contents. Nigel’s eyes peak from across the table, ready to take a whiff. No matter the issue, weed is like the peace pipe around here. Bring your own shit to share and you’re as good as in.

  “Yes, they do,” Nigel says as Mickey takes the bag from Rah and opens it for Nigel to catch a scent of. “I got the blunts,” he says, momentarily lifting Mickey off his lap to reach into the desk drawer and retrieving the pack of Swisher Sweet’s cigars.

  “I can roll,” Mickey says enthusiastically. Her man taught her well and gives her plenty of practice. Trish, frowning like she just farted, turns her nose up and rolls her eyes.

  “Rah, I thought you said you wasn’t smoking blunts no more,” Trish says, completely changing the vibe. Al Pacino’s on the screen, screaming what Rah looks like he’s feeling.

  “Trish, I never said that. You said you didn’t want me to smoke blunts and I never said anything,” he says, reaching across my lap to the table, grabbing a drumstick. I look at Jeremy who’s engrossed in the movie and couldn’t care less about the drama going down next to me. “Besides, you ain’t my mama,” he says, obviously irritated with the tone in her voice. If it’s one thing Rah doesn’t like, it’s someone telling him what to do.

  “I know that, fool. But them things stink and are so ghetto,” she says. As Mickey passes the carefully rolled blunt to Rah, who passes it to Jeremy to light, Mickey gives Trish a look that shuts her mouth right up. She doesn’t know a thing about ghetto until Mickey shows her. And, she’s lucky Mickey’s comfortable. Otherwise, that heffa would be in for a beat-down.

  “Ghetto is as ghetto does,” Rah says, taking a hit from the blunt Jeremy’s just passed over me to him. “Ain’t that right, Pacino?” Rah says, acknowledging the television before passing to Nigel, who gives it to Mickey before taking a draw himself. I guess me and Trish are the only two nonsmokers in the room.

  “I got papers if you need some,” Trish says. So, she does smoke, just not blunts. She probably only smokes a certain brand of papers or some shit like that. This broad’s too much for me.

  “No, I don’t.” Why is she talking to me? I don’t like being put on the spot. I wonder if she knows about me and Rah’s past, unlike Jeremy. It would be just like a heffa to bring up my past with her boyfriend in front of my boyfriend. But luckily, the men are high and ready to socialize, getting the session started their way.

  “I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like Scarface,” Nigel says, watching the movie while Mickey begins to doze off on his chest. From the looks of it, they’re the only happy couple here and they’re not even a real couple. I feel so uncomfortable sitting between Jeremy and Rah I haven’t even held Jeremy’s hand. And, he hasn’t reached for mine. I wonder if he feels my unease.

  “Yeah, talk about a cult classic,” Jeremy says, keeping the rotation going. “This is the reason I started selling in the first place,” he says, drawing attention to the fact he also sells weed. Or sold, since he gave it up after he got busted at school a few weeks ago. Now, he’s just a faithful consumer.

  “You started selling weed because of a movie?” Raheem asks, passing the blunt to Nigel who looks like he’s ready for the showdown. Rah’s serious about two things: his music and his family. Weed has supported both of them and hustling isn’t fun and games to him at all. His dad’s in jail behind slanging, his mom’s dancing, and he does what he does. Selling weed isn’t a hobby to Raheem and he can’t stand people who think it is. He’s about to go off and now I really want to move.

  “Yeah, man,” Jeremy continues. “When I saw Tony Montana gaining control of his cash flow by selling drugs, I thought, my dad has it wrong all these years, working hard to get patents and shit and he’s miserable,” Jeremy says. He must be hella faded because he sounds real stupid right now, even to me. Nigel and Rah are too smart to hustle for long. They see it as a means to an end, not a way to rebel or piss off their parents. It’s a whole other hustle out here.

  “Your dad’s loaded, Jeremy. What are you talking about?” I say, hoping to check him before Rah does. Jeremy may be smart and intelligent in his White boy, atheist kind of way. But, Rah’s wise through life experience, books and street hustle: a lethal combination.

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t make him happy,” he says, not picking up the “shut up” tone in my voice. Damn it, I wish he would.

  “You White boys are never satisfied,” Rah says, relaxed and confident, ready to school Jeremy, whose only shield at the moment is me. And, I’m ready to go in the other room to check on Kamal. Sitting next to Rah is too much. And, my instincts are telling me to grab Jeremy and head out the door. But, it’s too late now. “Your dad works his ass off to support you and you sell weed. What the hell kind of bull is that, man?” Here we go.

  “Rah, calm down man. It ain’t that serious,” Nigel says, waking a sleeping Mickey with his deep voice. “White folks are always working hard all their lives for money and end up miserable. That ain’t nothing new.”

  “Yeah, but that don’t make it right. And, to say he was inspired by my nigga Tony is just insulting.” Jeremy, who by
now is feeling the tension rise, tries to alleviate the situation by explaining his point of view.

  “All I meant was Montana found another way to survive, regardless of his circumstances,” Jeremy says, putting the near-finished blunt in the ashtray on the table, before grabbing a waffle and offering me a bite, which I accept. Rah, noticing the affection, gets a little jealous, and so does his mute broad.

  “Rah, can you get me something to drink? I’m out of Hennessey,” Trish says, dangling her empty glass in front of Raheem, who can see nothing but Jeremy’s hand on my thigh as we lay back on the couch, enjoying our waffle. As if she said nothing, Rah continues his tirade.

  “No, my nigga, no,” he says, laughing a little as he does when he gets really pissed. “Tony Montana is a Cuban refugee who came to another post–slave society looking to support himself and his sister. That’s it. That was his American dream and it turned into a nightmare. There was no choice involved, no daddies with money to run to when shit didn’t work out for him,” he says, now on a roll.

  “There’s always a choice,” Jeremy says. As Jeremy talks, a picture of Rah kissing me flashes into my head. What the hell?

  “Yes, there is.” And, as if reading my thoughts again, Rah touches the side of my thigh, on the low, without missing a beat. “And, choosing to be a hustler in a shitty ass society not built for you to survive ain’t one of them.” And, with that final comment, I grab Jeremy’s arm and say good night.

  “Jeremy, I need to get home. I have work tomorrow and I’m still tired from last night,” I say, trying not to be too obvious, but still get Jeremy out of here before Rah really punks him. “It was nice meeting you Trish, I’ll see y’all on Monday,” I say to Mickey and Nigel who are laughing at the quick turn of events.

  “Damn, Jayd, where you going, girl? It’s still early,” Mickey says, rolling another blunt. “The session’s just getting started.”

  “Yeah, you didn’t even get to hear our shit,” Nigel says, looking victorious. He’s glad Rah got to me tonight. He’s always been Rah’s personal cheerleader as far as he and I are concerned. No matter how many times Rah hurt me, Nigel was always there defending him.

  “Thanks for having us, man, and I’m sorry we didn’t get to listen to your demo. My girl’s got to get up early. You know how it is,” Jeremy says, seemingly unaffected by the tension in the room. That’s one thing I love about him: He keeps a cool head no matter what. He takes my hand, ready to go.

  “That’s alright, man. Some of us hustle at night, some in the day. Besides, I’m sure there will be another time,” Rah says, standing up to shake Jeremy’s hand before we head out the back door. “Thanks for stopping by, man. I know how precious Jayd’s time is,” he says, looking my way. Jeremy looks from Raheem to me, knowing something’s up.

  “Tell Kamal I’ll check him later,” I say, slamming the door behind me. This was a bad, bad idea.

  18

  Boy Friends

  “You’re everything I wanted Before I knew just what I wanted.”

  —USHER

  “What was all that nonsense about you selling weed because you wanted to be like Scarface?” I say, immediately cutting into him as we walk toward the car. I didn’t want to pounce on him fully in front of everyone. But, now that we’re alone, Jeremy’s got it coming to him.

  “I was serious,” he says, slowing down to look me in the eye. “Look, when I was growing up, all we ever heard about was the family business and growing wealth, blah, blah, blah. My brothers and I just wanted to surf. As we got older, my mom and dad’s marriage started to deteriorate because he was never home and when he was, he drank, which is why my mom started drinking.” Well, that explains the preoccupation with champagne at the family dinner I went to with him a few weeks ago. Everybody was lit even before we got there.

  “And, what does any of this have to do with Tony Montana?” I ask, not letting him off the hook. As sympathetic as I am toward his alcoholic family, it still has nothing to do with his selling weed. Well, at least not in my opinion. People slang when they need to, not to rebel against their rich families. There are other, more productive ways to do that.

  “When my brother Mike came home from college one year, he took me and Justin to the beach for a midnight surf. It was the first time I’d ever surfed by the moonlight,” he says, looking up at the clear sky and a full moon. “His friend’s father, who’s wealthier than anyone I know, kicked him out for not wanting to go into the family business. So, he started selling weed and ended up very happy, on the beach, with his girl and two kids.”

  “OK, still not seeing the Scarface connection,” I say, unconvinced. He doesn’t know I come from a family full of dudes. And, so far, his explanation ain’t enough for me.

  “When we got home that morning, we slept all day and I watched Scarface for the first time with my brothers that night. The story really had an impact on me. Between Tony’s ability to come from refugee status to a drug lord—even though it was hardcore drugs and violence and shit I never want any part of—and my brother’s friend’s ability to defy his family and still be successful and content, I knew I wouldn’t follow in my father’s footsteps. Even though Mike ended up going into engineering like my dad, he’s miserable like him too. Justin and I decided we would take over a different arena, like Scarface, and be happy while doing it.”

  “That’s some serious White boy logic you got going on there, Jeremy,” I say, not totally convinced, but I have a better understanding of his thought process now. And, who am I to judge? I remember when Rah came home after his dad was taken to prison and told me he started slanging like his dad. I thought it was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard, especially since he personally experienced the way that life usually ends. But, I didn’t judge him. If he saw that as the only way to feed himself and his little brother immediately, I was with him.

  “Even though I may not have the financial hardships Raheem thinks necessary to slang, we all want the same thing,” he says, putting his arms around my waist and his forehead up against mine, forcing me to feel him, literally.

  “And, what’s that?” I ask, looking at him. He’s too cute for me to stay upset with him for long.

  “Freedom,” he says, kissing me and making me forget we’re outside of Rah’s house. After a few minutes of the softest kisses ever, we continue down the driveway toward the car.

  “How did you say you know Raheem?” Jeremy asks, opening the car door for me to get in. It’s chilly in the car and I just really want to go home. It’s been one hell of a week and I’m tired. But, I don’t think Jeremy’s in any condition to drive me home quite yet. For now, we need to sit in the car and chill until his high comes down. I know how to drive, but I don’t have my license yet. So, he’s the only designated driver around here. As he gets settled into the driver’s seat, I see he has the same thoughts and reclines the seat back to chill for a while.

  “We went to junior high together,” I say, reclining my seat alongside his to lay back. He only had a couple of hits, so he should be cool in a little while. I’m sure Rah and his crew won’t be out for a while, so we should be fine.

  “Yeah, but there was more going on in the room than just some regular old junior high buddy shit,” he says, closing his eyes, ready for a peaceful slumber. “I may be White, Jayd. But, I’m not clueless,” he says, placing his hand on my thigh which has been a hot spot this evening. Maybe too hot.

  “Jeremy, I didn’t want to tell you that Rah—I mean Raheem—is my ex from way back. It seemed frivolous,” I say. Looking at me obviously try to cover my tracks, he smiles and takes my hand from my lap, kissing it softly.

  “We all have our pasts. One thing you should know about me is you don’t have to lie to me about yours. I’m cool that you were with someone before me,” he says, making me feel very stupid. Why did I feel the need to keep the truth from him? It’s just like in Maman’s story when Jon Paul finds out about her and Pierre’s friendship, which she lied about from the
start. Maybe if she told him about it in the beginning, he wouldn’t have ever felt the need to be jealous. But of course, Jon was crazy and went to extremes to possess Maman. But, the lesson is the same. If you’re in a relationship, tell the truth, even when it hurts.

  “Yeah, like Tania. You never told me about her,” I say as I tightly grasp his hand, hoping to make peace with him. There’s something very special about Jeremy and I don’t want to scare him away.

  “I told you, that was just sex, for both of us,” he says, giving me an intense look. “My friendship with her was nothing compared to my relationship with you. Jayd, I love you. I know it’s soon and it may catch you a little off guard. But, I’ve never felt this strongly about anyone before.” Sitting up fully, face to face, he says it again. “I love you and I know it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have come to check out the competition,” he says, casually lying back down as if he just checked the time.

  “So, you knew all along Rah was my ex?” I say, wondering how he found out. But then I guess some things will always remain a secret.

  “Let’s just say I suspected as much. You seemed pretty tight-lipped about your relationship with Nigel. So, I figured it was either him or Raheem. Then, meeting up with everyone last night was enough to solidify the deal. You were practically screaming without saying a word when he invited me to the session tonight, which is why I decided to come.” He’s been playing me all along. He’s too cool and calm about his shit, never giving up what he’s really thinking or feeling. How am I going to read him? Maybe that’s the point: I won’t be able to.

  “Damn, you really are good at chess, aren’t you?” I say, realizing he just saw ahead by like five moves. How will I ever hide anything from him? I mean, yeah I should be honest, but not to a fault. Another valuable lesson I’ve learned from Maman’s story is that men can’t always handle everything we women can throw at them.