Frenemies

by L. Divine

  “Peace, Rah,” I say before folding my phone shut. I reach into my backpack and retrieve my dilapidated fake Coach bag, slipping the cell back inside.

  “Girl, you need a new purse,” Mickey says as she pulls out of the overpacked parking lot heading toward the Galleria with the majority of the crowd. Whoever’s not going to the beach is definitely going to the mall. “I think Macy’s is having a sale. I have some coupons in my purse.” I take out my leather Lucky satchel and hold it, showing her my guilt gift.

  “I already have one,” I say, sounding sad. I really want this bag, but it’s the principle of it all that’s killing it for me. Jeremy and I still haven’t finished our discussion about his racist daddy, and I need some answers. I feel like if I wear this bag, I can’t continue to grill him about that or Tania, and that isn’t worth it to me.

  “Damn, girl, you hit the jackpot,” she says, almost hitting the car in front of us as she grabs the fly bag off my lap. “Why you ain’t wearing it?”

  “Because it’s hush money,” I say, finally speaking the words out loud. Rah’s right; I can’t keep this bag. But I hate to let it go.

  “What the hell are you talking about, Jayd?” Mickey says, turning down the music so she can hear me better. All the White folks gawk at us as we cruise down Artesia while playing our loud-ass sounds. I know they’re thinking What are those ghetto girls doing here? And Mickey’s gangstered-out Compton bumper sticker doesn’t help them to think otherwise, which is just fine with me. We already look out of place with all the Audis and Land Cruisers driving by. But like Daddy says, classic cars are made to last, and so is Black culture. It’s one of his favorite sermons to preach when Bryan starts to complain about wanting a new car.

  “The only reason Jeremy bought me this purse was to keep me from asking him about Tania and his daddy,” I say, clutching the bag close as we circle the parking lot, looking for a spot close to the door. Mickey likes to be close to all exits wherever she goes; according to her, you never know when you’ll have to make a run for it.

  “Jayd, you get too caught up in the whys and hows of shit,” she says, expertly parking the car and turning off the engine. “You need to sport that bag like a trophy that you earned for putting up with that White boy and his bull.” She grabs her large Dooney & Bourke bag before getting out. Her man leaves her wanting for nothing. Well, all except for Nigel apparently, because she can’t get enough of him. I sure do hope she’s using protection, not that it’ll save her from the beating her man will give her if he finds out about Nigel.

  “I can’t do that. Besides, I wanted to buy the bag myself,” I say, grabbing both my new bag and old purse before joining Mickey on the other side of the car. “He took all the fun out of me having it.”

  “Girl, you need to reevaluate the way you deal with dudes,” she says, leading the way into the crowded mall. The smell of various perfumes overwhelms my nose, making me sneeze.

  “Bless you,” says the saleslady behind the counter.

  “Thank you,” I say, walking past her counter and toward the shoe and purse section. I love the smell of new leather.

  “Jayd, are you seriously going to take back that two-hundred-dollar bag your rich boyfriend bought so you can spend your own hard-earned money on it? That makes absolutely no sense to me.” Well, when Mickey puts it like that, it does sound kind of stupid. But I’ve got to do it, no matter how it makes me look.

  “Mickey, I’d feel terrible if I kept this bag, and that’s that,” I say, approaching the counter with my bag in its original wrapping, stuffing included. I didn’t bring the shopping bag, because it wouldn’t fit in my backpack, and I didn’t want to risk getting it dirty on the bus.

  “May I help you?” the snooty White lady says from her register without looking up.

  “Yes, I’d like to return this bag,” I say, placing the brown beauty on the counter. I am going to miss her. But the next time we’re together, it’ll be for the right reasons and feel much better. The lady looks at the bag, then up at me, then at Mickey. I know she thinks we stole it; it’s written all over her face.

  “Do you have a receipt?” she asks, anticipating a negative response.

  “Uh, no. It was a gift,” I say, feeling nervous. This trick looks like she’s caught Bonnie and Clyde red-handed. Damn, not this shit again. Mickey’s looking around for the exits, and I’m right with her.

  “And you didn’t receive a gift receipt or a shopping bag at the very least?” she says, inspecting the immaculate purse with a twisted look on her face. If I were White or looked like I had money, my not having a receipt wouldn’t be an issue, I’m sure.

  “Look, lady,” Mickey says, pissed at this broad’s attitude. “She just wants to return the damned bag. The price tag’s on it, and it hasn’t been worn, so what’s the problem?” Mickey’s antagonizing the already irritated saleswoman, who has now called her manager over to help deal with us.

  “The problem is,” the manager says, an older White man who looks like the pimp of the place, “we don’t accept merchandise exchanges without both a sales receipt and shopping bag. We’ve had a serious problem with shoplifting in this store,” he adds, basically accusing us without saying it. See, now he’s pissed me off.

  “That’s bullshit,” I say, losing my cool. “I’ve been in here plenty of times, and I’ve seen other customers return merchandise without either. Just admit it, you think I stole this bag and have the nerve to bring it back here for money.”

  “Well, I didn’t say that,” he says, smiling a slick grin. “But if and when you find the receipt, you’re more than welcome to return the gift.” He and the saleslady look victorious as Mickey and I admit defeat and retreat toward the food court.

  “Punk-ass bitches,” Mickey says loud enough for them to hear as we head out the department store and into the busy mall. “I told you to keep the damned bag.” I laugh.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I say, still unconvinced of her last statement. I’m just going to have to get the receipt from Jeremy, which ain’t going to be pretty. “You want a lemonade? My treat,” I offer as we glide up the tall escalator. This mall has the prettiest landscaping I’ve ever seen. It feels like I’m inside a greenhouse with all the tall plants and bright light throughout.

  “Sounds good.” As we step off and get in line at Hot Dog On a Stick, I get a strange feeling that someone’s watching me. I turn around and see Misty, Nellie, Tania, Laura, KJ and the rest of South Central hanging out in the food court. Just what we need, more drama.

  “You see them tricks over there hating?” Mickey says, sharing my view. “I need to continue Nellie’s ass-whooping while I have the chance.” But before Mickey makes a move, Misty’s already on her way over to us. Nellie gets a worried look on her face, and now I know something’s about to go down.

  “What’s up, y’all?” Misty says, trying to make small talk. With a mouth as big as hers, that will always be an impossible mission.

  “What’s up is that I saw you and Nellie chatting in the office yesterday,” I say, diffusing any chance she has of gaining Mickey’s trust. “What was that all about?”

  “Damn, Jayd, why are you so suspicious all the time?” Misty says, rolling her neck and causing her long curly hair to whip from one side of her round behind to the other. KJ must be having a field day getting her sprung on him.

  “Because she knows you, Misty,” Mickey says, stepping out of line and toward her. “So spill it. What’s up with Nellie?” As I order our drinks, Mickey pulls Misty off to the side and gets her version of the latest scoop, while Nellie watches from across the way.

  “Speak up a little bit. It’s busy in here,” I say, handing Mickey the ice-cold drink while Misty continues her ex-posé.

  “Well, like I said,” Misty continues, not even trying to be discreet. This girl can’t be trusted as anyone’s true friend; Misty’s too caught up in the glory of being the gossip queen of South Bay. Like Nellie’s crown, it is a fictional honor admired only by the
bored and delusional. “When Mickey came into the office a couple of weeks ago to clear her absences, Nellie let it slip in front of Mr. Langley, the assistant principal over attendance, that she saw you and Nigel sneak off campus, and he’s investigating your and Nigel’s absences as we speak. Y’all are in some deep shit if he finds out the truth—especially you, Mickey.”

  “Slip, my ass,” Mickey says with venom dripping from her words.

  “Mickey, wait,” I say, holding her back from going after Nellie. “Look at the messenger before you go over there. It’s Misty.” I cut my eyes at my doppelgänger. Misty loves this, and she also loves the fact that, for once, no one’s out to beat her ass. But I’m sure it’s only a temporary shift in the atmosphere. Misty’s always got enemies, even if right now they’re nowhere to be found.

  “Do you really think she made all that up? Nellie’s been dying to get back at me for being with Nigel,” Mickey says, looking me in the eye and seeing the truth for herself. I didn’t tell her about Nellie’s suspicious behavior yet because I wanted to get all my facts straight before coming to her, unlike Misty, who’s just out for blood. KJ, Shae and the rest of the folks look our way as Mickey’s voice rises, causing all chatter to cease. Nellie, hearing Mickey’s words, begins to walk away, with her new crew right behind her. But she can’t get away from Mickey this time.

  “Hey, Nellie, can I have a word with you?” Mickey says, walking toward the escalator and blocking Nellie’s escape attempt, with me right behind her. Laura and Tania back up; they don’t want any part of this mess.

  “What is it, Mickey? I’m kind of in a rush,” Nellie says, sounding more like Tania every day. Before Nellie can work up the nerve to say anything else, Mickey flings her extra-large lemonade in Nellie’s face and slaps her down to the ground. Here we go.

  “Damn,” the onlookers say in unison. As Nellie tries to regain her footing on the slippery floor, Mickey pushes her back down, talking mad shit. All the crowd’s oohs and aahs can be heard throughout the otherwise silent space.

  “Mickey, stop before you really hurt her,” I say as I try to hold Mickey back with my free hand. She may have wasted her lemonade, but I’m not wasting mine.

  “Would you feel the same way if your ex-best friend ratted you out?” she says. And she’s right, I have wanted to kill Misty several times in the couple of years I’ve known her. But I still wouldn’t do it like this, especially not in the same mall that just accused us of shoplifting. Speaking of which, here comes security now. Damn, just what we need, more mall employees in our business.

  “What’s going on here?” the guards say, breaking up the crowd that’s encircled us. “Is everyone okay?” Nellie’s regained her composure but still looks terrified and betrayed. Laura and Tania didn’t even help her get up off the ground. What kind of friends does she think they are to her?

  “No,” Tania says, jumping in the middle of the circle, ready to tell all. “That girl attacked my friend.” She points at Mickey, who already can’t see straight through her rage. All she needs is another target.

  “That’s a lie,” I say, forced to defend my friend as everyone else remains quiet, waiting to see what will happen next. Tania’s charges are serious and could do more than get Mickey suspended or expelled. She could end up in jail over this bull, and that’s not happening today. “This girl fell and slipped, and my friend tried to help her up, but it just got twisted around. Isn’t that right, Nellie?” I say, looking from Nellie to Mickey, waiting for her reply. If she knows what’s good for her, Nellie will go with my story and deflate this situation before it gets even more out of control.

  “You’re lying,” Laura says, adding her two cents of loyalty to the queen of her hive. I hope they both get what they have coming to them. If Tania weren’t pregnant, I’d jump her ass right now myself.

  “Well, miss, it’s your call,” the brawly guard says to a shell-shocked Nellie. She can’t speak and knows better than to say a word against Mickey to her face. I know Nellie hasn’t forgotten where we all live. She can play that White-girl role at school. But when we get back to Compton, her fake-ass homies will be nowhere around, not that they’re much good to her anyway.

  “Nellie, say something,” Tania says, egging her on. Even Misty’s on the tip of her toes from the tension in the room.

  “Well, if you’re not going to say anything, there’s nothing much I can do but get this mess cleaned up,” he says, leaving the scene and summoning the cleaning crew to remove the evidence. Just as I predicted, Nellie hasn’t completely lost her mind. But this is far from over. I know Mickey’s going to have a field day planning her revenge on Nellie. How stupid could Nellie be to think that she could replace loyal friends after the fitting of her crown? Doesn’t she know it takes time to find homies like me and Mickey, especially with her finicky ass? But like I said before, if she crossed Mickey, there would be nothing much I could do to protect her. So I hope she knows what she’s doing because Mickey’s out for blood and Nellie’s is all that’ll do.

  Mama’s busy with a witch hunt of her own sorts, so I know she won’t have too much time to chat, and she had a hair appointment today. But I need to get some advice about this one. I don’t want either of my friends to get hurt, but this has got to be put to rest, and fast.

  When Mickey drops me off, Mama’s screaming can be heard all the way down the block. Luckily Mickey was too absorbed in her own fire to hear the one going on inside my house. I hate when Mama gets like this. And usually Tuesdays are her chill days, after Netta’s finished working her magic on Mama’s head. But from the sound of it, Mama’s head is anything but cool.

  “Goddamnit, I’ve told you lazy–ass fools to stay the hell off my white couch,” she says. Oh, Lord I hope no one took the plastic off her couch. My uncles do that sometimes, looking for change. Usually they put it back without her noticing too much. But something must’ve happened to piss her off like this.

  “Lynn Mae, shut the hell up about that damned couch,” Daddy says from outside. He’s the only one who would dare talk back to Mama. “It’s one stain, and I’m sure you can get it out.” Now, why did Daddy have to go and say that? I think I’ll just stay on the porch until this blows over. It’s too much energy for me to take right now, especially after keeping Nellie and Mickey from an all-out brawl. I’ve done enough refereeing for one afternoon.

  “Are you going to clean it up? Huh, Lee?” Mama yells out the back door. Now he’s done it. When she gets to yelling outside, there’s no calming her down. My mom thinks it has something to do with menopause. But to hear Daddy tell it, Mama’s always been a hothead. I guess that’s where I get it from, although my fire’s a little spark compared to hers.

  “Hell, no, I’m not cleaning it up,” Daddy says, almost laughing. If he and Mama didn’t argue, they’d barely communicate. I think he gets a kick out of pushing her buttons.

  “Well, then, I guess you don’t have shit to say about it then, do you?” Mama says, slamming the kitchen door. “And who left the beans on the stove uncovered? Do you like eating flies in your food?” she says, taking the top off the table and placing it on the large pot. It’s then she notices a cake on her kitchen table, and Mama hasn’t baked all week. I can see her look of recognition from my spot outside and decide it’s time for me to intervene. I know that face: it must be from one of Daddy’s church groupies.

  “What the hell is this pound cake doing in here?” Mama says, picking up the heavy sweet and reopening the back door, tossing it outside to Daddy.

  “Lynn Mae, what the hell!” Daddy screams, no longer amused by Mama’s tantrum as he bends down to pick the pieces off the ground. Lemon pound cake is his favorite dessert.

  “I told you not to bring any food in here from those church hussies!” Mama yells, slamming the door behind her. “This is my kitchen and my house. Don’t be bringing no other heffa’s nothing up in here, you hear me, Reverend James!” And with that final lethal slur, Mama goes to her room, shutting the doo
r for the evening, I’m sure. She’ll be in there all night praying and chanting for help with her temper, as she always does after she’s vented like this.

  I guess I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to talk to her about my drama. Tonight I’ll concentrate on cooling down all the hot energy around me by studying my lessons. Mama’s going to give Netta a head cleansing tomorrow, and I need to be prepared to assist. Maybe she’ll even let us do one on her. If anyone needs to cool off other than Mickey, it’s Mama. And I need her to have a clear head to help me out of this madness. There’s no replacing Mama’s wisdom when it gets this bad.

  13

  Irreplaceable

  “So don’t you ever for a second get to thinking/

  You’re irreplaceable.”

  —BEYONCÉ

  Even after working in the spirit room all night chopping spinach and preparing the other ingredients that I could, I still didn’t come up with any solutions to my problems. Some things only Mama can fix. So how am I going to ask Jeremy for the receipt for my return? The last thing we need is another issue in our new relationship. We already have enough to deal with as it is.

  “Hey, lady,” Jeremy says, reaching across the passenger’s seat to open my door. “Jump in. I’ve got to head back home and grab my AP portfolio for the meeting after school.” I take a seat and shut the door.

  “Well, thank goodness you live up the street,” I say. If I left my school work at home I’d simply be assed out for real. By the time I’d reach home and back, school would be over.

  “Yeah, it has its perks,” he says, smirking at me as we ride up the hill along with everyone else. It must be nice living in these huge houses with their fancy lawns, even if there’s still family chaos to deal with. Well, I guess there’s no time like the present to get back to the matter at hand.