by K'wan
* * *
While Billy and Reese continued to debate her sexuality, Rhonda finally brought her ass out of the building, with the young man in the Yankees hat a few paces ahead. He pulled his cap low and made hurried steps toward the avenue.
“Damn, why don’t you slow down!” she called after him. He slowed down, but didn’t stop walking. “You in a rush or something?”
“Something like that,” he replied. “I got some shit I need to take care of.”
“A’ight. So, am I gonna see you later?” She leaned in to kiss him, but he stepped back.
“Yeah, hit me up later on, shorty.” He gave her a weak smile and walked off.
Rhonda felt played, but she didn’t show it. She was feeling the young man, but she knew he had a girl and he had made it quite clear that he had no intention of leaving her. They both agreed that it was just a fuck thing, but Rhonda had other ideas. He might’ve had game, but she was a professional gamer and he would learn it soon enough.
* * *
“That’s what took your tramp ass so long,” Reese said to Rhonda as she approached the car.
“Fuck you, Reese. You always hating on somebody,” Rhonda shot back, climbing into the car beside Jean.
“Yo, that kid looks crazy familiar. Don’t we know him from somewhere?” Billy asked.
“Probably. He fuck with Sonia from Forty-third and Eighth.” Rhonda smiled triumphantly.
“Hold on, dark-skinned Sonia?” Reese turned around in her seat. “The same Sonia that does your hair?”
“Yep.”
“Rhonda, you ain’t shit.” Billy shook her head.
“Please, she don’t know what to do with him,” Rhonda said. “If she did, he wouldn’t be creeping out of my house.”
“That’s some cold shit.” Jean shook her apple-shaped head. “I thought Sonia was your friend?”
“We cool, but we ain’t like that. She does my hair, but we don’t hang out.”
“Ain’t you got no shame?” Billy asked.
“Shame don’t live here, boo. Besides, that nigga could gag a bitch with all that meat he’s swinging. I had to taste that!” She gave Reese a high five.
“Shameless bitches,” Billy mumbled, putting the car in gear.
* * *
On a crisp afternoon in July, Lenox Avenue was popping. Both sides of the strip, between 112th and 116th, were packed with people. Some were on foot, while others were slow coasting in their rides. Shorties were out wearing next to nothing, trying to attract the next up-and-coming ghetto superstar, or style on old flings.
The Kingdome games always drew crowds, mostly because you were liable to bump into people you hadn’t seen in a while or could check out who was up and coming on the scene. It also allowed some of the city’s most skilled ballers to come out and showcase their skills. This particular day, the park was especially crowded. Everyone wanted to see the evening game. A squad from out of Brooklyn came through to challenge Harlem’s reining champions for bragging rights. It was one of the most anticipated games of the summer.
Paul was posted up on the corner of 114th and Lenox, watching the parade of chickenheads. He had stopped a tender young thing, rocking a too-short tennis skirt and flip-flops. Her perky breasts peaked out from beneath her baby-doll tank top. His cell phone rang in the middle of his mack game, putting it on pause.
“Excuse me for a minute, ma. I gotta take this,” he said, looking at the caller ID. When he was safely out of earshot, he answered the call. “Hey, boo.”
“Hey, baby. What you doing?” Marlene asked.
“Nothing much, just chilling.”
“Well, while you’ve been busy chilling, did you make it over to see P.J.?”
“I was gonna go earlier, but Rhonda started her shit, so I’ll probably swing by there later.”
“Lord, what was she beefing over now?”
“Something light. P.J. needs a pair of sneakers.”
“Already? Didn’t you just give her some money to buy him sneakers?”
“Mar, you know she tapped into that,” he said as if she should’ve known.
“Paul, if you know she’s not gonna do the right thing, why do you keep setting yourself up?”
“What, I’m not supposed to take care of my seed?”
“Slow your roll, partner. You know I would never allow you to half step,” she checked him. “All I’m saying is that you and Rhonda need to get your shit together and come to some kind of understanding.”
“Oh, you don’t think I’ve been trying to do that?” Paul asked. “There’s no reasoning with that girl.”
“Then take it a step further,” Marlene suggested. “If Rhonda wants to keep playing these fucked-up games, then let a lawyer sort it out.”
Paul sucked his teeth. “I ain’t trying to go to court over this shit.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause that’s for white people. How many black dudes do you see going to court on some custody shit? You know we don’t rock like that.”
Marlene pinched the bridge of her nose. “Paul, you are such an intelligent man, but sometimes you say the stupidest shit. So you mean to tell me that instead of going to court and handling this the proper way, you’re going to keep tolerating Rhonda’s bullshit?”
“I’m trying to be the bigger person about this, Mar,” he defended. “If I take Rhonda to court it’s only gonna get uglier than it already is. Don’t worry, Mar, it’ll blow over.”
“When, by the time P.J. graduates high school?” Her tone was becoming heated. “Paul, when does enough finally become enough? For as long as we’ve been together, Rhonda has been doing the same shit. She blows your phone up, she’s always asking for money, and she plays games with P.J. I could understand it if she had a valid reason to be a bitch, but she’s doing it out of spite.”
“Marlene, I’ll take care of it.” He sighed.
“Paul, you’ve been taking care of it,” she reminded him. “Sweetie, I love you, but love only goes so far. This is seriously fucking with my peace of mind.”
“So what are you trying to say?” he questioned.
Marlene felt herself becoming emotional, so she took a minute to gather herself. “Baby, all I’m saying is that I wanna be happy. We can talk about this another time.”
“Yeah, a’ight,” he said with an attitude.
“So, where are you guys?” she asked, changing the subject.
“In the hood,” he replied. “Me and Larry about to go watch the game at Kingdome.”
“Don’t be out there fucking with them bitches, Paul.”
“Baby, you know I ain’t on it like that. I only got eyes for you.”
“Tell me anything, Paul.”
“Never anything, boo, only the truth.”
“Aww, my baby is so sweet. But like I fucking said, don’t be out there fucking with them bitches.”
Paul sighed. “Marlene, why you always think I’m out fucking with some other hos?”
“Because I know how you and that fool Larry do when y’all get together. Y’all probably out there ogling them stank-ass bitches like everyone else,” she told him.
“Whatever, Mar. I ain’t trying to argue with you.”
“We aren’t arguing, Paul. We’re talking, right? That’s what adults do. Anyhow, you coming to see me tonight?”
“I’m not sure just yet,” Paul said, watching a big-butt female stroll by, shaking what her mama gave her. Paul winked, but didn’t dare call out to her while on the phone with Marlene. She could be as sweet as she wanted to be, but get her started and you’d find yourself in a bad way.
“What do you mean, you’re not sure?” she asked.
“That’s what I said, ain’t it? I got some shit to take care of out here and I’m not sure what time I’ll be done.”
“Whatever, Paul. It’s funny that you can put everyone and their mamas before me,” she said.
“Here we go with this shit,” he grumbled.
“What shit?”
“Marlene, why we always gotta go through the motions?”
“Listen, Paul. What you call ‘the motions,’ I call effective communication. I believe in expressing myself to my significant other, to prevent confusion of certain shit. You should be glad that I bring things to your attention, instead of seeking comfort elsewhere.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I know you ain’t trying to get fly,” he accused heatedly.
“No.” She sighed. “Paul, all I’m saying is, when couples feel like they can’t communicate, one, if not both, of them ends up turning to others for that understanding. Baby, I love you too much to have our relationship turn into a Lifetime movie.”
“Yeah, okay,” he said, still unconvinced.
“Let’s not fight, baby.” She softened her tone. “You know I love you, and cherish the time that I get to spend with you. Look, do what you need to do in Harlem, and if you can’t make it, I’ll understand.”
“I’m gonna try, Mar.”
“That’s good enough, for now. Love you.”
“Love you, too, baby.”
Click.
4
That had to be the sweetest shit I ever heard,” a voice called from behind Paul. Larry was standing there, wearing an ear-to-ear grin and clutching a black liquor store bag.
“Fuck you, Larry,” Paul said playfully.
“I love you, too, baby,” Larry repeated. “Youz a good dude, Paul.”
The two men’s ribbing session was broken up when a ten-speed bike rolled to a squeaky stop next to them. The rider’s face was young, but his eyes held untold years behind them. He was of medium build with light skin and a nappy afro. A Dusty knapsack was slung over his shoulder with unidentifiable stains on it. The small boom box on the handlebars pumped a muffled tune that no one was really familiar with. The bike rider gave Paul and Larry a warm smile that caused them to sigh. Eight was in the building.
Crazy Eight was a cat from 110th and Columbus. He had always been a little out there, but had never been as bad as he was now. Eight had a learning disorder and his mother sought to come up off his disability. She applied for SSI, but was ordered to put the young boy on medication in order to prove the validity of the claim. In her greed, she gave the boy the medication without thinking about the long-term side effects of medicating a child who didn’t need it. The chemicals ended up having an irreversible effect, causing brain damage. It seemed like the older Eight got, the worse his condition became. He was functional enough to move around in the streets and try to pass for normal, but anyone who spoke with Crazy Eight could tell he wasn’t all there.
“Peace God!” Eight shouted, giving Paul a pound. He tried to dap Larry up, but the big man looked at him as if he couldn’t be serious. “A’ight, a’ight,” Eight said, and nodded at Larry, then turned his attention back to Paul. “Yo, I just got finished pressing up these CDs, God.” Eight held up a CD case with a hand-drawn image on a folded sheet of notebook paper that served as the cover.
“That’s what’s up, my dude. Congratulations,” Paul said sincerely.
Eight put down the kickstand to hold his bike up and went to stand beside the two men. His eyes held a vacant look as he continued talking to Paul. “Word, God, I’m ’bout to blow up out here, word is bond!”
Larry looked at Eight as if his very presence was an offense. “Yo, what’s up with you and this ‘God’ shit?”
“Son, I just came into the knowledge,” Eight said as if it was common knowledge. “I be the God Wise. Wise words spoken by as wise man,” Eight almost sang.
Larry and Paul looked at each other. Every other week Eight came outside on some other shit. One week he might be a born-again Christian and the next week he might be a stick-up kid. All the medication he’d taken caused him to live in several different realities. Eight kind of knew he was off kilter, but he didn’t mind too much. The $675 a month that he got from the government coupled with his other hustles insured that he didn’t have to worry about a job where he would be asked to think anyhow.
Larry had finally gotten tired of listening to the man. “Yo, you’re straight up full of shit. Don’t nobody wanna hear your plan of the month, Crazy Eight. Get up outta here, you’re scaring all the bitches away.”
Eight looked at Larry as if he wanted to cry. “Why you gotta come at me like that?”
“’Cause don’t nobody wanna hear that stupid shit you’re kicking.”
“Leave the nigga alone, Larry. You know Eight ain’t got it all.”
“That’s a’ight, fam.” Eight gave Paul a pound. “It’s all love.” Eight’s eyes suddenly took on a maddened glare as he spun to face Larry. “Yo, y’all niggaz better watch how the fuck you talk to me! On the real, I’m ’bout to start putting niggaz in wheelchairs.”
“What?” Larry moved closer to him with balled fists.
Eight cringed and became sane again. “I wasn’t talking to you, my dude, we fam. I was talking to them bitch-ass niggaz over there.” Eight nodded at a group of men who hadn’t so much as looked in his direction. “Them niggaz be trying to play me like I’m soft. I got love on these streets, feel me?” He held his hand out and Larry looked past it.
“Yo, bounce, Eight,” Larry said seriously.
Eight looked like he had something on the tip of his tongue, but whatever it was, he kept it to himself. “Yo, I’m mobile,” he said, riding a loop around them on his ten-speed. “Y’all niggaz stay up.”
“A’ight.” Paul waved. He waited until Crazy Eight had ridden off before questioning Larry. “Yo, why you always treat that nigga like that?”
“Fuck that crazy-ass dude. He ain’t nothing but a con artist anyhow.”
“What’s he ever done to you?” Paul asked.
Larry looked at the fleeing form of Eight and turned to answer Paul’s question. “Check it, about two or three months ago, I bump into this piece of shit, sitting on the curb in the rain. He gets to telling me how he’s down on his luck and hungry. I offer to buy him something to eat, but he has a better idea, ‘Loan me a hundred dollars so I can get a room, and when I get my check next week I’ll give you two.’”
Paul let out a snicker. “Larry, tell me you didn’t go for that shit?”
“Man, that’s Little Harv’s older brother, so I gave him a play. I didn’t think he was gonna beat me for my bread. Anyhow, a month or so goes by and this nigga is ducking me. When I finally catch him, he feeds me a song and dance about how he got robbed and was too ashamed to tell me. What a fucking liar.”
“So did he ever give you your money?” Paul asked.
“You damn right, he did!” Larry said triumphantly. “I took his ID and held it hostage. When he went to the check-cashing spot, I was right there with him.”
“Guess you’ll know better next time.”
“Damn right, I will. He’s lucky I didn’t fuck his ass up.”
A ’78 Caddy slowed to a stop right next to Paul and Larry. It was painted sky blue with brown angels and red devils, warring for the pearly gates of heaven airbrushed on its hood. A short chick, with an ass made for a horse, stepped from the passenger side wearing a tight black leather skirt and heels. She opened the rear passenger door and a miracle stepped out.
When he stood to his full height, he was at least six foot two. His midnight black skin almost blended into the black silk button-up he was wearing. He carefully shook the creases of the dark blue jean shorts he was wearing, and placed a size-twelve Jordan on the curb.
Black Ice and Paul had known each other for quite some time. Ice used to deal with Paul’s brother back in the day, so it wasn’t unusual to see him in the hood. The thing about Ice, though, was he didn’t sell drugs. He bumped a little weed here and there, but his main source of income was pimping. Ice was a young nigga with a good-size stable and respect from the old heads on the track.
Paul smiled proudly and extended his hand. “Black Ice, what da deal, my dude?”
Black Ice slapped his palm and gav
e him a diamond-toothed smile. “Taking it light, cat. You know how I do it.”
“I see that paint job is holding up.” Paul admired the car.
“Yeah, you put the God hand on it, son.”
Black Ice’s car was one of Paul’s masterpieces. When Ice had initially restored the ride, he’d put it through a series of face-lifts. Everything from paint and tire color, to rims and grilles. It was hot, but Ice still felt it wasn’t flashy enough. This is where Paul came in. Back then, he was just airbrushing jackets and T-shirts. Ice was telling Paul about a car he had seen in Cali and asked if he could do it. Paul stepped to the plate and did a wonderful job. Ice hit him with a nice chunk of change and promised to keep him in mind for future jobs.
A motorcycle roared by, drawing everyone’s attention. It was a nice bike, with a custom paint job, but the main attraction was the girl on the back. She was wearing a leather corset, with denim shorts that left hardly anything to the imagination. Her plump but not oversize ass was cocked up on the back of the bike, nearly causing several traffic accidents.
“That bitch had a phat ass!” Larry shouted.
“Yeah, she’s a fine little bitch.” Ice rubbed his hand over his chin whiskers. “I’ve been trying to get Yoshi under the wing for a minute now. Damned renegade bitch knows how to get a dollar.”
“That was Yoshi?” Paul squinted. “That bitch is getting thick!”
“I’ll fuck the shit outta Yoshi, B.” Larry rubbed himself.
“Yeah, she a’ight. But my new little bitch ain’t no slouch. Spice,” Ice called over his shoulder. “Come out here, and let these square niggaz see what a sporting bitch is supposed to look like!”
The girl who slid from the back of Ice’s Caddy was stunning. She had long legs, connected to a perfectly round ass. Her skin was banana yellow, with a tinge of honey. A long black wig flowed down her back and dropped slightly over her arched brow. She gazed at Paul with catlike green eyes, making him turn away after a while.
“Shit, Ice.” Larry stared openly at the woman.
