I stared at my outfit for the evening hanging on the back of the closet. It was a quiet night in my room and in the projects for once—no gunshots and no violence. Yesterday’s incident with Mouse and Denise was being talked about heavily. But there were always fights and shootings in the projects, and for the moment, the topic of the day was our brawl; but then tomorrow, it would be something else that caught the project’s attention.
I sat near my bedroom window, with the dark kinda inviting, and stared at my home, one of the most notorious projects in New York, from the sixth floor and thought about my rhyme for tonight. Living in Edenwald was a muthafucka, but it was home, and would always be home. I done experienced the good, the bad, and the ugly, and I survived the ugly.
Edenwald was located in the northeast section of the Bronx, north of Baychester, south of Wakefield, east of Bronxwood, and west of Boston Road and “the Valley,” a sub-neighborhood of Eastchester. Edenwald project was the largest housing development in the Bronx and home to the forty-seventh precinct, one of the most active precincts in the city. With forty buildings from three to fourteen stories tall, it had about 2,000 apartments housing 5,000 people. Yeah, with all them muthafuckas stacked up over each other, you were going to have some shit and deal with all kinds of trouble. I mean, it was the Bronx, and the Bronx was an infamous borough, known for everything from being the birthplace of hip-hop to breeding some of the most notorious gangsters that New York has ever seen. Pistol Pete, Larry David, and John Gotti. Yeah, Gotti is from the Bronx. But the Bronx to me was much more; it was a place of culture and diversity. We have the Yankees, the most dominant baseball team in the world, and we have our history, the people.
Where I lived, the crime rate was heavy and the drugs were prevalent. Everybody wanted to escape their poverty. The drug dealers did it by selling drugs and making money, the fiends escaped their hell by getting high, the residents did it by working every day and maintaining, and I escaped by music, and yeah, sex. But we each had our own little way of zoning out from our harsh reality, even if it was only for a moment.
Tonight, performing at the Latin Quarters was going to be our escape, me and Mouse. I was nervous, because it was going to be a huge crowd and there was no telling who was going to be in the house. The Latin Quarters was known for having A&Rs from different music labels coming through to check on the talent, trying to decipher who was nice enough to take it to the next level and have a big hit. I definitely wanted to catch a bigwig’s attention via my talent and my sex appeal.
I looked at the time and removed myself from the window. It was almost seven p.m. The show started at nine p.m. I wanted to get there early and check out the scene. When it came to my career I didn’t do the CP time.
I decided to call Mouse. Her phone rang a few times before she decided to pick up.
“Hello.”
“Mouse, you gettin’ ready?” I hollered through the phone.
“Yeah, ’bout to,” she replied nonchalantly.
“What you wearing tonight?” I asked.
She sighed. “I don’t know.”
“Yo, we gotta be on point tonight, so we gotta be lookin’ sharp. I think someone from Def Jam might come through to peep the show.”
“You serious?”
“That’s what I heard. You know Search be knowing everything that be going on. He like know everybody and shit.”
“I know.”
Search was a homeboy of ours. He wanted to become the next Russell Simmons in the music game. Search was affable and sharp when it came to his business. He definitely had the gift of gab and wanted to manage us. He already saw the potential in us and always said that we were destined to become superstars. Search was the first person who believed in us. We grew up together in the same building. He lived below me with his aunt on the fifth floor. He was okay looking, bald head, dark skin, but he wasn’t my type at all. He was on the chubby side with glasses and smooth features, but he was such a cool-ass dude. Everybody called him Search because he was always searching for something, either via hustling, a come up, something to do, pussy, or just a bitch to be his.
“Anyway, Search talkin’ ’bout come early so he can introduce us to a few people,” I said.
“Okay, okay. We there, Sammy,” Mouse said, sounding a bit jovial now.
“I’ma start gettin’ dressed now, so meet me in front of my building in like an hour, Mouse.”
“No doubt. One.”
“One,” I replied.
I hung up. I was always the punctual one. Mouse would be late to her own funeral. I knew she wanted this music career to happen too, but sometimes Mouse could get trapped into other dumb shit that would be irrelevant to our come up, like niggas. Don’t get it twisted, I love dick too; but if it came in the way of my money and career, then I didn’t need it in my life. Mouse, on the other hand, even though she was a bad bitch, she was a gullible bitch, too. She was thirsty for that attention, but I’m not saying my girl was a ho, because she wasn’t; but when it came to looking for love, Mouse could become open like a book. I was bit more unyielding when it came to looking for love. Love hurts, love is damaging. Love is a dangerous emotion. It can lead you off track, sidetrack you, and have you feeling sick and unwanted. Love could make you feel alone and used up. Love was a muthafucka! Love is a hater! That’s why I wasn’t so quick to find it.
Yeah, I’d been in love twice, and the two niggas I loved done broke my heart and damaged me in so many ways that, I admit, I would run away from it. My first boyfriend, the boy I fell head over heels in love with, was Cashes. We were fourteen; he was a corner nigga, a bad boy, and the one who took my virginity. Cashes was a sweetheart when he wanted to be, but there were times when he would act as if I didn’t even exist, especially when he got around his friends. It felt like he could easily love me alone, in private, but when we were around each other in public places, it was a different story. He would become aloof toward me.
Cashes sold drugs, and he would take me shopping on Fordham Road or Third Avenue and buy me whatever I wanted. It was one of the perks of dating a hustler. I would come home with shopping bags full of expensive things. And the sex was good. He had my heart in a vise grip. I only wanted to be with him. I thought I was Cashes’ queen. I believed he was a good dude and only loved me. But a year later I found out the hard way that Cashes was a fuckin’ dog. Besides me, he had many other girlfriends he took on shopping sprees on Fordham Road and spent money on. And I wasn’t the only girl he was sexing. He got two bitches pregnant at the same time, and one was a friend of mines. I was just another notch on his belt. He got the pussy; he took my virginity. His was the first dick I sucked. He was the first man I ever loved and the first boy to break my heart like a priceless vase shattering against concrete. I was fucked up for months behind him.
The second heartbreak in my life was Marcus. He was Puerto Rican and black, and a real cutie. I met him when I was sixteen. I was finally over Cashes, reason being he had gotten locked up for drugs and was sentenced to five years upstate.
Marcus had long, beautiful hair that reached to his shoulders, and smooth brown skin that seemed to glisten and melt like ice underneath the sun. His eyes were green, and his physique was amazing. It looked like he was born with a six pack and nice arms. I’d met Marcus at a house party in Westchester, the suburbs. His conversation was nice and I was definitely attracted to him. He wasn’t a thug, but very well educated. He was a senior in some affluent private school and on his way to college trying to become an engineer. He talked different from the other niggas I grew up with. He knew big words and knew how to use them fluently in his sentences. He knew about things that I was unfamiliar with, like politics and history. He spoke three languages and played the piano. Being around Marcus made me want to better myself. I mean I started reading books because of him and looking up big words in the dictionary to improve my vocabulary, which became a plus when I started rhyming. I wanted to become the female Nas.
A week after
meeting, we fucked in his bedroom, and the dick was so good. He grew up having both parents in his household. He was privileged. Marcus was going places. He was on his way into doing bigger things and I wanted to go along with him and do big things myself. He was my boo and l truly loved him. I wanted to always be around him. But there was one problem: his mother. She hated me. I wasn’t from their world. I was from the ghetto; they were from the suburbs. I went to public school; her son was always in private schools. Marcus talked proper English; I used Ebonics and had a checkered past with the streets. I wasn’t good for her only son. I was considered a bad influence. The bitch once told me, “Stay the fuck away from my son. I don’t need him to get you pregnant. He won’t ever be a baby daddy to ghetto trash like you. He has a lot going for him, and you are only poison in his life.”
Oh, I wanted to go off on that uppity bitch. But the only reason why I kept my composure was because I loved Marcus and didn’t want to disrespect him at all. As long as he loved me, then I was good. Shit, I was ready to be spiteful and get pregnant by her son on purpose, and then there wouldn’t be any getting rid of me. I would permanently be in her son’s life. But I just couldn’t do it to Marcus. He was always good to me and had a very bright future ahead of him. If he wanted kids by me, I was ready to give him some. But we weren’t ready and I wasn’t rushing to push a child from my womb.
We dated for a few months, and I was in love with this man. Then a week before my seventh birthday, the unthinkable happened: Marcus got another bitch pregnant. Once again, I thought I was the only one in his life, but I was clearly mistaken. While he was doing me, he was also doing his ex-girlfriend, Cindy. She was the girl his mother was happy to see him with. She was pristine, came from a good home, with both parents being lawyers, she was educated and had a full scholarship to attend Spelman in the fall. I was just something for him to sow his wild oats.
I became crushed, almost suicidal. Mouse was there for me. She comforted me through those hard times when I just wanted to be alone and die. And I always did the same for her. On my birthday, Mouse just received her income tax check and she took me to Coney Island for a day of fun, just us. We spent the day bouncing from ride to ride, eating junk food, playing the games that you knew were rigged, and just momentarily escaping from our crazy worlds. Sometimes I think if it weren’t for her, I don’t know where I would be. But that was a year ago, the last time I was in love with someone.
The one thing me and Mouse were fortunate about so far was that we weren’t any baby mamas to anyone. Shit, we done had plenty of dicks run up inside of us, sometimes raw, too, coming inside our tight, wet boxes, but never any babies followed after a good nut. Thank God. We were both young and free from the diaper changing and baby feeding that so many girls our age were trapped into. We were a rarity in the projects: two bitches as fine as us and we didn’t have any kids. That’s why niggas were on us. They wanted to be the first to get us pregnant and have bragging rights in the hood. Yeah, to pop a baby in either one of us sent out a statement: they got us.
With it getting late, I hurried and got dressed. I was home alone, which was great. I didn’t have to deal with my mother’s shit. She was still in the streets doing her, after everything she’d been through; nothing was slowing that woman down.
I got dressed in a pair of tight jeans that highlighted my luscious curves and nice round booty, a patterned tie-front top that showed off my flat stomach and pierced belly button, and some wedged heels. With my sensuous hair flowing down to my shoulders and my makeup on point, I was looking like a goddess. I was ready to strut around on that stage with my goodies showing and illustrate my talents for these niggas and bitches.
Before I left the apartment I called Mouse to see if she was ready.
“Yes, I’m ready,” she said.
She wasn’t.
“Meet me outside, Mouse, and hurry up,” I hollered.
“Okay, Sammy. Damn!”
I sighed. It was already ten minutes after eight. The club and show started around nine. It was going to be cab ride down there. The trains were going to be too slow and too far of a walk. I exited my apartment and walked toward the elevator. I could hear my neighbor, Mrs. Dinkins, arguing with her husband of ten years. It was a regular. The next apartment down you could smell the heavy weed smoke lingering and spilling into the hallway. Ray was Jamaican and was always getting high and always trying to talk to me.
The narrow hallway was covered in graphite and smelled of weed. And when I stepped in the elevator, it smelled of fresh urine. Like always, the elevator became someone’s personal bathroom. Fuckin’ nasty!
It was still early spring, early April, warm and balmy. I walked through the courtyard that was littered with broken glass, discarded cigarettes butts, liquor bottles, and weed remnants. The hustlers were on the boulevard either rolling dice or selling drugs. The residents were inside nursing their kids or nursing a nice drink after a long day.
I hurried toward Mouse’s building. On my way there, I came across Kay. She lazily swaggered across the courtyard toward me. She was dressed in a pair of dirty black jeans, a spaghetti-strap blouse, and house shoes. Her hair was matted and uncombed, her lips were dry and terribly chapped, and her eyes were sunken deeply into her head, indicating her heavy drug use: crack, meth, heroin, something. She was grotesquely skinny and fucked up.
Kay was in her mid-thirties and a hot mess. Back in the days they say she used to be the shit. She had a body like mines and the fellows were all over her like white on rice. She was the prize to get in the projects, but that was years ago. Now, it was hard to look at her directly. She made you want to turn your head from her and run the other way.
“Sammy, Sammy.” Kay called out my name with a smile. “Sammy, let me hold five dollars.”
“I don’t have it,” I said.
“What, I’ma pay you back, Sammy, you know it. I just need a favor from you,” she pleaded.
“I don’t have it, Kay,” I reiterated.
“Damn, Sammy, I thought you was my homegirl,” she said, scratching in areas that looked like they were going to fall apart. She looked at me and smiled again. “You lookin’ all fine tonight. Where you goin’?” Kay was fidgety, and her eyes were all over the place, indicating her need to get high.
“I’m performing at Latin Quarters tonight.”
“Ya still rhyming I see.”
I nodded.
“You always had talent.”
“Thanks, Kay.”
There was nothing more to talk about. Kay couldn’t get what she wanted from me, so she hurried off to harass the next fool. Kay was something that I didn’t want to become. She got caught up with the wrong man, fell in love with him, and he got her hooked on that shit. Every day she was losing herself deeper and deeper, probably to the point of no return. It was scary. It was because of love Kay ended up that way.
I didn’t have time to dwell on her. Mouse and I had someplace to be. The cab was already on its way to pick us up and take us into Harlem. I hurried toward her building. It was already eight-thirty and it looked like us being punctual was going out the window. When I got in front of her building, I dialed Mouse from my cell phone. It went straight to voice mail.
“What the fuck, Mouse,” I cursed.
I dialed again. This time it rang. She picked up after the forth ring. “Hello?”
“Mouse, what the fuck! Are you ready?” I hollered.
“Damn, Sammy, I’m coming down now,” she hollered back.
I hung up and sighed with frustration. We were going to be late. But knowing black people, the show was going to start on CP time. I already knew that Search was looking for us out front. I had to call his phone and let him know that we were running a little late.
“Sammy, hurry up, it’s already gettin’ packed out here,” he said.
“We there, Search.”
Mouse came walking out her building with a smile, like we weren’t late already. But she looked good though. She was
clad in a pair of tight jeans like me, only mines were black, and hers were blue. She sported a pair of fresh white Nikes and wore a tight black T-shirt that accentuated her tits, and on the front of it read GIRLS’ NIGHT.
It was definitely going to be our night. Mouse was ready to do her thing. We were looking spectacular. We looked like we belonged on tour with Beyoncé, Alicia Keys, Rihanna, or somebody making noise in the music game.
“Damn, look at you, lookin’ like a million dollar diva,” Mouse said jovially.
I twirled around in my heels and showed off my outfit. I was looking like a star. But we didn’t have time to marvel on our appearances. We had somewhere to be and fast. Like clockwork, the gypsy cab arrived on time and we climbed into the back seat. The trip to the club took twenty minutes and cost us twenty dollars. It wasn’t like we were banking like that. That twenty could have gone to more useful expenses.
When we pulled up to Latin Quarters, the line outside was long. It was mostly niggas outside with their sagging jeans, and hood attire. The minute we stepped out of the cab, the wolves were on us. Like on cue, they saw the tight jeans, the heels, and our succulent curves, and the calls followed along with the corny pickup lines.
La Familia Page 2
