“Where you been?”
“In the county, nigga, that’s where,” Red lied.
“What?” Bacon asked in disbelief.
“Oh, you ain’t the only one with problems. Sasha was the only one who would help me out.”
“What happened?” Bacon asked.
“You know, I ain’t even trying to talk on this phone. I’m coming to see you this weekend,” Red announced. Damn, I got to go visit the nigga.
“Don’t lie to me, Red. A nigga need to see you.”
“Not as bad as I need to see you.” She knew how to make Bacon feel much better. No one wanted to be left for dead behind bars, let alone believe that someone they looked out for would screw them. “You need anything?”
That closed his mouth for certain.
“No, just you, baby.” Bacon went all the way soft on her.
“I can’t tell by your letter,” Red said, throwing salt in his face.
“Don’t even go there. Just be sure to be here Saturday.” The phone beeped, signaling the end of the phone call.
“I will.” Red hung up the phone, sucking her teeth in disgust.
CHAPTER 6
The Crisscross
Muthafucka!” Red said aloud, as she thought about her conversation with Bacon. She marched into the hallway and paused. It was getting late and she was tired. Sasha had come by, alone, and she was glad because it would give them a chance to talk and decide what would happen next.
“ ’Sup, sis.”
“Hey, girl.” Red took the chair opposite the couch.
“Dat nigga was fine. Who was that?” Sasha asked.
“Bacon’s ass.” Red knew that Sasha meant Q.
“Not him. The nigga you let out the rear?”
“Oh, a friend.” Red smiled and fanned her hand in dismissal.
“What? Shit, he’s fine. Q, right?” Sasha waited for the 411.
“Girl, don’t even go there.”
“Do he got a friend?” Sasha asked.
“Just met him a couple of weeks ago.”
“Mmnh? Where?”
“Girl, why all the questions?”
“ ’Cause his ass is fine.”
“What I’m trying to do is have him buy your loft,” Red explained.
“I’d love to show him my . . . uh . . . loft,” Sasha said.
“Ho, you trippin.’ This is strictly business.”
“I’m sorry,” Sasha lied. “Do you think he really would be interested in my place? How could you do it?”
“What I want to do with him is a land contract or an assumable loan, but I need you to give me all your paperwork. Did you bring it with you?”
“Yeah, I got all my papers right here.” Sasha pulled out a folder and laid it in front of her.
“Whose name is the loft in?” Red asked.
“Mine, and I have power of attorney for all of Catfish’s stuff.”
“Cool. This is how we gon’ do it. You know the loft is overpriced; I did some comps of other lofts in the building. I also found that you owe two hundred eighty-seven thousand dollars. Now, you need to decide what’s more important and you got two options: getting it out of your name or getting some money out of it.”
“Ho, you know I need some dough,” Sasha said, laughing.
“I think I can get you three hundred thousand dollars, but there’s title, tax and all sorts of other issues to go with the closing. The other option is to refinance for about three hundred fifty thousand dollars, pull the equity and then rent it out. As long as the note is being paid, the property will pay for itself. I can manage the property through the real estate office.”
“Option two sounds good as far as the equity line. Who can you get to rent it?” Sasha asked.
“Don’t you worry, just know that I will take care of the lease. Out of the money we get, we will take out your rent and then you will have a little left over for yourself.”
“How soon can you do this?” Sasha was eager to get started.
“In no time,” Red reassured her.
“Let’s do it.”
CHAPTER 7
Flip Side of da Game
Red knew that she had to work her hand in selling the loft so she immediately thought of Gloria Schottenstein.
Raven Gomez had approached Gloria last year. Gloria hesitated to even talk to the young girl. Whoever said timing was everything must have seen Red stop by the afternoon she did. It was the anniversary of the death of Gloria’s husband, Sherman, and Gloria’s spirits were low.
“Hello,” Red had said as she walked slowly into the real estate office. She strolled across the hardwood floor and stopped at the receptionist desk.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist had asked, sliding her black-rimmed glasses toward the tip of her nose.
Red was so nervous that she wanted to turn around. She gripped her résumé tightly in her hands.
“Can I help you?” the woman repeated with obvious contempt.
“I-I’m here to talk with Ms. Schottenstein.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes,” Red had lied.
“One moment.” The woman lifted the receiver and spoke into the phone in a whisper. She had looked up at Red and continued talking. Red had learned long ago how to ear hustle. She could tell that Gloria Schottenstein wasn’t sure if she had an appointment or not. It was clear that the receptionist was searching frantically for a note or paper with the appointment penciled in.
After a short moment, the receptionist sighed deeply. “You can go in.” She pointed toward the rear of the hallway.
Red had taken quick steps down the hall and noticed several unoccupied offices.
At the end of the hall was a glass door with the initials “GS” etched in the center. She had walked up to the door, paused for a moment, taken a deep breath and then knocked.
A woman’s voice had said, “Come in.”
The first thing Red noticed when she entered the office was that Gloria was even prettier in person than her publicity photos revealed. She smiled warmly at Red and indicated that she take a seat. Red quickly went from nervousness to admiration. Gloria’s office held trophies from years past, when she was at the height of her game. She had soft leather furniture, exquisite artwork hanging on the walls and a nicely framed picture of her and her husband that sat on the corner of her desk. “I’m sorry, dear. Did I forget an appointment with you?”
“No, I wanted to come by and apply for a position with you. I lied about having an appointment. I just said that to get in to see you.”
Gloria smiled. “Nice approach.” She walked over to the fridge and removed two bottles of Evian water. She extended one to Red, who graciously accepted.
“Thank you.” Red handed her the résumé.
Gloria looked it over. When she was done, she simply said, “So you want to become a Realtor?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t ‘yes, ma’am’ me. You make me feel old, sweetie. Call me Gloria.”
“Gloria, I want to be a Realtor.”
“Why?”
The real answer was so she could make a lot of money but Red knew that Gloria didn’t want to hear this.
“I enjoy working with people and helping them make their dreams come true by finding the perfect home.” Red wasn’t surprised when Gloria smiled at this response. She knew it was what Gloria wanted to hear.
“This is very hard work and the hours are extremely long. I built my company with one client. That client later referred me to another client, and then another.”
Red absorbed every word that she was saying. This was the flip side of the illegal game. She was learning a legal hustle and getting game from a master of real estate.
Schottenstein Realty was not the largest real estate company in Detroit, but it was definitely one of the most prestigious. Gloria and Sherman had started the company in the ’70s. They both put in all the hard work and muscle that a start-up company required.
; Five years earlier, Sherman, Gloria’s senior by seven years, died of an unexpected stroke. But despite Sherman’s absence and the bleak Detroit economy, Gloria continued to lead a successful, highly profitable business and looked good doing it.
Though they were years apart and from different worlds, Gloria and Red were essentially the same. They possessed a similar quality—a quality of confidence, a commanding inner power and a drive to prosper at all costs that eluded most other women, including Red’s mother.
Red and Gloria bonded instantly.
“Your reputation is all that you have in life, and all that you need in this industry. With your rep you can seal a deal or cause one to break. If you work on building your rep, the rest will follow. Join me for dinner tonight and we’ll talk more.”
“Sure, where?” Red asked. She was very excited but tried not to seem too eager.
“Meet me at the Monk Restaurant on Beaubien Street at seven o’clock. We will finish your interview there.”
“See you then.” Red extended her hand to shake Gloria’s good-bye.
• • •
The Monk Restaurant was located in the upscale suburb of Gross Pointe Park, about thirty minutes away from Red’s home.
Red made certain she arrived twenty minutes early and still didn’t beat Gloria. She was already there having a glass of Cabernet, mingling with the guests and the maitre d’.
Seeing Red in her vintage strapless Emilio Pucci dress and matching jacket made Gloria smile. The girl was definitely a looker. Red managed to gain the stares of the men and envious glances of the women. Gloria placed her arm around Red and began to introduce her to prominent Detroit citizens.
Gloria introduced her to the mayor of Detroit, Kwame Kilpatrick. “This is Raven.”
“Nice to meet you, sir,” Red said.
“What a lovely name, Raven,” he said with approval. “So you are working with Gloria?”
Red glanced at Gloria, who winked. Red smiled and answered confidently, “Yes sir. I’m her new junior Realtor.”
Gloria liked Red and the way she handled the conversation.
“By the way, sir, congratulations on your reelection,” Red said.
“Congratulations to you on your new job,” the mayor replied as he was led away to meet and greet others.
Gloria knew the only way to really interview a person was to see them in different settings. Since real estate was primarily schmoozing, she wanted to see if Red could schmooze. They spent the beginning of dinner doing so as several people approached the table.
“Tell me about Gloria,” Red said as she sipped her water. The dining room was dimly lit with crystal chandeliers while the tables were set with fine china and sterling silver utensils. A man played soft jazz on a baby grand piano in the corner of the restaurant. Gloria ordered the grilled chicken breast with coconut curry sauce and Red had grilled salmon with spicy black bean sauce.
Gloria broke off a piece of bread from the basket and shared the story of her business start-up with Red.
“You’re a New Yorker, huh? Pretty cool place to visit, but not live,” Gloria joked.
“The real estate market there is crazy,” Red remarked.
“Oh, definitely. The real estate market is extremely different in New York. There is no more land to build new houses on, so the buildings keep getting taller and taller.”
The conversation then turned to family. Where a person is from tells you in which direction they are going.
Red surprisingly told Gloria about the absence of her mother. She typically told anyone who asked that her mother was dead.
• • •
When I turned ten, my mother’s live-in boyfriend, Jerome, began buying me all types of expensive gifts. One day, he bought me a pair of diamond earrings and that’s when my mother got really suspicious. Licking his lips, Jerome asked me, “Do you want to keep getting those nice things?” He took me over to a mirror in the living room and told me to look at myself. I was thinking this nigga is out of his element when he started running his fingers through my hair.
“What you doing?” I asked.
He took a minute to respond and told me that I was the second most beautiful woman he had ever seen, my mom being the first. I’m thinking to myself, I ain’t no woman yet.
“Don’t you ever let a nigga get something from you for nothing,” he said seriously. “You so pretty, you could make a nigga crawl.” He laughed.
“Come on, Red,” he begged. I liked the feeling of having power over him, false as it was. He sounded like a young dude my age trying to get a piece of the na-na.
“This is wrong,” I said, trying to twist away.
“If you don’t, I’ll tell your mother you kissed me.”
I wanted to scream but I knew deep down inside my mother would believe Jerome over me. He looked at me and gave the most evil smile I’d ever seen. It was almost like he knew what I was thinking. I thought that letting him touch me was something I could live with, but losing my mother wasn’t, so I walked into my room and lay on the bed, scared to death.
“Stand up,” he said, pulling out a Black & Mild. He unzipped my pants and they fell to the floor. Jerome began rubbing me like I was a woman and kept commenting on how big my chest was for my age. He started kissing me and took off my panties.
He positioned himself on top of me, kissing and touching me, being careful not to put all of his weight on my small body. I felt something on my leg before he got up and started unbuckling his pants. As Jerome stood there in his underwear, I noticed something trying to break through the fabric; he reached inside and pulled it out.
“What you doing?” I asked, confused. He showed me his dick as he stroked it and I told him it was too big to go in me. He just ignored my words. He began kissing on my neck and chest again, this time with more force. I kept saying to myself, God help me, but help never came. A strange pleasure began to take over my body to numb my brain of the situation at hand. When I moaned, he asked if he could have sex with me. He spread my legs and tried to place his manhood between them. I yelled for him to stop because of the pain, but I couldn’t move.
“It’ll be okay,” he said softly. “I’ll go slow. I’m gon’ make it feel real good, okay,” he said in a gentle tone. “I love you, Red.” Then he kissed me again. I was disgusted with myself for liking his words. I always wanted to know what it felt like to have my father say, “I love you.” When he finally got inside of me, he just kept giving me deep tongue kisses. “You are so pretty,” he kept telling me. I hated Jerome for what he did to me, and for stealing my innocence. But I loved the attention, and gave myself to him without reserve.
• • •
Gloria and Red drank way into the evening, ignoring the waiters who were ready to close. They had emptied two bottles of wine before Red began to feel closer to Gloria. What was happening between them was magic.
When they left the restaurant, the two women embraced. Red held on a little tighter than she normally would have. She’d love to have a dinner like that with her mother, but how could she, when her mother had chosen Jerome—a man who still lived with her to this day—over her. To Red, her mother was dead.
CHAPTER 8
Starting Over
The U-Haul driver backed the small truck up, trampling over the azaleas, landing smack-dab in the middle of the coleus and almost on the front steps of the house.
Kera had packed all of her belongings in large Glad garbage bags; being the pack rat she was, it was hard to say good-bye to yesterday so she brought it all with her today. Red’s home was fully furnished, but Kera still wanted her favorite purple chair for her bedroom. She also needed her clothes, the computer, her high school cheerleading trophies, and the stroller and playpen for the baby. Of course, she had to bring the big fifty-inch TV that she’d gotten from Rent-A-Center. Then she had to have her bunny slippers and kitchen appliances, which included her George Foreman grill and her deep fryer. The girl’s arteries were crying for a heart attac
k.
When Kera said this was her new home, trust and believe that she meant it from the bottom of her heart. She had copped a new leopard-print comforter set and matching curtains for her windows along with a complete pink and chocolate bathroom set. There were lamps, posters of LL Cool J from back in the day, rollers, stand-up hair dryers, curling irons—you name it, she brought it.
Kera tapped on the door and dropped a huge plant in the entry. Red walked up to the door and knew what she had to do. Whoever said being greasy was easy was wrong.
“Damn, girl,” Red said, looking at the truck after Kera knocked on the door. “Get the fuck off my shrubs!” she yelled. She ran onto the cobblestone pathway en route to the side of the truck.
The driver ignored her and continued to beat his hand on the steering wheel while singing at the top of his lungs to the beat of an oldie but goodie.
“I said, get the fuck off my plants, nigga!”
The driver looked at Red as if she had lost her mind. “Fuck you. Yo, Kera! Get yo’ girl!”
“Girl? Muthafucka, pull this raggedy-ass piece of shit out of my flowers!” Red screamed. She turned to go find Kera, who was on the other side of the truck, still pulling garbage bags full of shit out of the front seat.
The toothless driver sat there like Kera and Red were going to move everything themselves. When he realized Red wasn’t about to help, he jumped out the truck and began grabbing things with both arms. His thought was, The sooner I get Kera into this house, the sooner I can get the hell out of here.
“Oh no, you will not bring them nasty-ass feet into my house.” Red looked back and forth between Kera and Toothless. He wore steel-toed work boots that had seen better days.
Toothless removed his shoes to reveal a pair of yellowish, stained socks, which emitted an odor that could kill a horse. Red pinched her nose and decided to walk back into the house to pour herself a drink. This shit was giving her a headache.
Kera and Toothless went up and down the stairs bringing in Kera’s things. Kera did her best to maneuver, pushing or pulling whenever she could, considering her belly was getting bigger and bigger each day.
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